


Lockdown

by Em_The_Anxious_Dragon



Series: Sanders Hospital [3]
Category: Cartoon Therapy (Web Series), Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Disease, Disease Whump, Driving, Flashbacks, Gen, I kinda succeed?, I try to be medically accurate, Mentions of War, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Original Character Death(s), Panic Attacks, Spanish Speakers, Too much medical stuff to accurately tag, Vomiting, War Veteran Dr. Emile Picani, Whump, emergency department, hospital au, lockdown - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-07-28 21:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20070844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em_The_Anxious_Dragon/pseuds/Em_The_Anxious_Dragon
Summary: Patton, Roman, and Logan have plans to make this Virgil's best birthday ever! But then, a deadly contagious disease enters the Emergency Department, and the floor goes on lockdown- no one comes in, no one goes out. Patton, Roman, and Logan, alongside Joan and Nate, must treat the ED patients and prevent further spread of the disease while the cure is driven in from Phoenix.Meanwhile, Thomas sends Virgil and Emile to Atlanta to collect a medication that can relieve the disease and buy patients time for the cure to arrive. Can Logan and the rest of the ED treat their patients with a lack of doctors and equipment? Can Virgil and Emile get to Atlanta in time to save lives? Can Thomas keep Miami from panicking?





	1. Quarantine

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains the entirety of the Sanders Hospital Lockdown Arc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love the chance to create Nate- the Crime Fighter Character is under-appreciated, and I see that personality come out in some of Thomas’s other shorts. I see a cocky, masculine, jock character that embodies the concept of The Detective. I love playing with him and creating what I feel is one of the first glimpses to the fan interpretation of this character.  
Also, I get to create my own disease which was SO MUCH FUN! These stories take a while cause I do my best to be medically accurate. I'm nowhere near that, but I have some medical accuracies!

_-30 minutes in_

* * *

The wet wipe in Logan's hands rubbed against the bottom of his prosthetic leg. The smooth, curving metal foot glinted in the pale light of the Emergency Department. Doctors and nurses bustled about the desks in the center of the main room, ignoring Logan with the most part. He had his leg on his lap, wiping down the tan shell usually hidden by the dark blue sleeve where his knee rested. Remy had once complimented Logan on the color coordination between his leg and his lighter blue scrubs, but he had assured the barista that it was a coincidence. His sleeve, liner, and sock rested on the desk beside him. The beeping of electrocardiographs and heart monitors acted as the white noise to Logan’s cleaning process.

While his colleagues would have despised him for saying so, it was a quiet day in the ED save for the incident half an hour ago. The other doctors and nurses working under Logan despised the word, but Logan didn't believe in superstitions. The patients coming in were the usual motley crew Logan saw. Colds and touches of flu, tourists thinking they could surf when the definitely could not surf, idiotic teenagers, the usual. Now Logan wouldn't feel guilty for heading out.

Logan glanced up at the clock hanging over the ED. It was 5:40. Logan let himself smile softly. Patton and Roman would be down any minute now. He should probably get changed out of his scrubs, but there was one last thing he needed to do.

”Stokes coming down soon?” Logan glanced to his left at the man leaning against the counter. Nate Christopoulos leaned his elbow on the counter, resting his head on the ice pack in his hand. His dark gray security uniform was ruffled, badge crooked on his chest. His thick head of black hair was tied into a ponytail behind him, which threatened to fall out.

”They answered the page,” Logan sighed, going back to his wiping. “They will be here soon.” Nate sighed, lifting his elbow and adjusting his ice pack. The large bruise forming around his left eye became visible for a few moments. He glanced across the ED to the line of beds against the wall, each one occupied.

"How's Crown doing?" Nate asked. Logan grabbed his liner and began sliding it over his amputated leg, smoothing it over his stump so there weren't any air bubbles inside.

"Dr. Crown's nose has been set and bandaged," Logan explained as he slid his sock over the liner. "She is in Bay 6 if you wish to talk to her."

"I just wanted to make sure she was doing fine, 's all." Nate sighed. Logan slipped his prosthetic back into his dark blue sleeve. He stuck his leg into the shell and fumbled around as the peg at the end of his liner tried to connect to the hole inside the prosthetic. With a few test steps, the leg clicked into place. Logan stood up and walked in place for a bit to settle his leg back into the prosthetic. As he did that, Joan pushed open the ED doors and strolled over to the desks. The medical director's white coat hung loosely over their purple polo. Logan spotted the edges of an orange beanie dangling from their coat pocket. They fiddled with the edges as they neared Logan and Nate.

"Alright," Joan sighed, leaning against the counter and meeting Logan's eyes. "What's all this about one of the residents pressing charges against someone?" Joan glanced at Nate and did a double-take. "Geesh, what happened to you?"

"Mrs. McCallum may seem frail, but trust me," Nate groaned, revealing his growing black eye. "She's got a mean left hook." Joan rubbed the bridge of their nose.

"Take me through what happened," Joan muttered.

"A short while ago," Logan explained, motioning towards the double doors that led to the ambulance lot. "The victims of a multiple vehicle accident arrived by ambulance. A pick-up truck drove into the middle of an intersection and got a side impact from an incoming van. The van driver was fine, they simply had some whiplash treated on-site, but the passengers of the truck were more injured. They were two sixteen-year-old girls, Milena Yakimov and Jessie McCallum. They're in Bays 10 and 11." Logan motioned towards the beds, where the two girls lay with a nurse by their sides. "Both were brought in half-conscious with their parents. The Yakimovs and the McCallums had been arguing as soon as they entered the hospital parking lot. This argument escalated as the girls began receiving treatment until Mrs. Yakimov punched Mr. McCallum in the gut. After that, both couples figuratively went ham on one another in the middle of the ED."

"And this is how Kylie Crown broke her nose?" Joan asked.

"That is correct," Logan sighed, fixing his glasses.

"I was doing my rounds nearby, so I jumped in," Nate explained, putting his ice pack back on. "Dr. Crown helped me out. I got this shiner and Mr. Yakimov broke her nose. Eventually, a couple of my guys came in and restrained the group. Now, I can handle a black eye. But Dr. Crown isn't very happy about the broken nose."

"Why'd they go at it anyway, do we know?" Joan asked.

"I believe each family blames the other's daughter for causing the accident," Logan explained. Joan groaned. They rested their forehead against the countertop.

"Wonderful," they muttered to the floor. "Just how I wanted to spend my afternoon. Let's see if we can figure this out ourselves before we send Legal down."

"The fun has arrived!" a familiar whimsical voice cheered. Roman pushed open the ED doors with his foot, one hand raised in a grand gesture. He wore the red letter jacket he insisted on wearing everywhere, but he'd swapped his work shirt for a white t-shirt with a black Mickey Mouse head and a pair of torn jeans (a fashion choice Logan didn't understand- why wear torn clothing?) He strolled around the desks and sat down in one of the wheeled chairs. "What up, plebs?"

"I thought you were heading home," Joan said, lifting their head.

"Logan, Pat and I have an adventure awaiting us!" Roman declared. He put both feet on the desk and pushed his chair across the tiled floor towards Logan. He wrapped an arm around his torso. Logan pulled Roman's arm off of him.

"The good sort of adventure?" Nate asked.

"Nothing that would end with a wound like yours, I'm afraid," Roman scoffed, pointing at Nate's black eye. The ED doors opened and the final member of Logan's 'quest' entered. Patton's glasses threatened to slip off his face as he jogged over to the group. He'd traded his scrubs and coat for a light blue polo, khakis, and a gray cardigan tied around his shoulders. There was a Paw Patrol sticker stuck in his curly brown hair.

"Ready to go, Lo?" Patton asked, smiling. His smile transformed into a look of shock when he saw Nate's ice pack. "Oh no, what happened?"

"Long story," Nate sighed.

"Once I change into my usual attire, I'll be ready," Logan said.

"What exactly are you three planning?" Nate asked. Patton smiled wide and clapped his hands together.

"Virgil's birthday is tomorrow!" Patton exclaimed. He bounced on the pads of his feet. "We're planning everything out!"

"We're kidnapping him," Roman chuckled.

"No, not kidnapping," Patton huffed. "That's bad. We're planning on taking him out to celebrate his birthday!"

"What are you planning to do?" Nate asked.

"Uh..." Patton said, his smile becoming awkward and overly large.

"That's what we are figuring out today," Logan sighed, fixing his husband's glasses. "Patton and Roman have numerous ideas. I am accompanying them to keep things... realistic. I trust you can handle the Yakimov's and McCallum's without me?"

"Yeah," Joan sighed, running a hand down their face. "Yeah, we've got this." The exterior ED doors slammed open. EMTs wheeled in a large gurney with a larger person strapped on top. Blood smeared down their face, making their bald head shine. Their shirt was half ripped by glass and hands. Glass shards littered their upper body, sticking out of uncomfortable places.

"Iago Rodrigues, sixty-two, crashed his Uber into a lamppost," the EMT pushing the gurney from behind declared. Logan grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and rushed around his desk. His leg clicked as he raced alongside the gurney. "Tachy, hypertensive, and unresponsive. We've got him on beta-blockers, but they aren't working. His passenger's behind us." Hypertension? Blood loss usually lowered blood pressure, not raise it.

"Internal bleeding?" Logan asked. The EMTs pushed Rodrigues into Bay 13. Logan glanced at Jessie McCallum as he passed by. She stared, eyes half opened, at the gurney before it wheeled away, head lifted slightly. The lights above Bay 13 flickered to life.

"Ultrasound didn't pull anything up," the EMT sighed. Nurses in dark purple scrubs rushed around Logan. They gripped the edges of the blanket lying under the patient.

"One, two, three!" Logan counted down. He, the nurses, and the EMTs lifted the man off the gurney. Logan's arms strained under the man's weight. They dragged him off the gurney and onto the bed. Everyone grunted when they let the man drop. The EMTs moved out of the bay to give Logan and the nurses some room. The one filling Logan in stayed at the curtain's edge, watching them do their work. The nurses hooked Rodrigues up to the monitors. They blinked to life and started blaring in Logan's ear. The man's blood pressure was 170/100 and his heart rate was at 140 bpm. Patton and Roman hovered at the edge of Logan's eyesight by the desks. As the nurses started hooking him up to more medication, Logan looked over the man's condition. Most of the damage Logan could see was from the glass sprinkling the upper half of Rodrigues. Some of the pieces were stuck in his body, but they were small slivers of glass, not life-threatening. The biggest cut was a long diagonal cut on his forehead, staining his face with blood.

"Do we know why he crashed?" Logan asked the EMT, pulling on gloves.

"From the passenger's report, sounds like a heart attack," the EMT explained. The violent ringing of the monitors turned into one long, held out beep. Rodrigues' stats read 0. How in the world was he coding? 

"Get the shirt off," Logan barked. One of the nurses grabbed a pair of scissors and cut through the man's t-shirt with a few focused snips. Logan pushed the fabric away and started chest compressions. Through the half-dried blood and chest hair, Logan could see something on Rodrigues' skin. It was a large red rash, spreading across the man's chest and collarbone, snaking off to his shoulders. The rash stretched around his arms and ended just before his wrists. Diagnoses and equations ran through Logan's head as he kept a steady count of how many compressions he'd made. A couple of compressions later, Logan heard a soft crack. He'd broken Rodrigues' ribs. He ignored it for the moment- most successful CPR needed to break a few ribs to get the heart going. A nurse applied two sticky orange pads to the upper left and bottom right of Rodrigues' chest. The defibrillator in the corner charged up.

"Clear!" a nurse declared. Logan stepped away from Rodrigues. The nurse set two large metal paddles on the patient's chest. His body jolted up, electricity coursing to his heart, and fell back onto the bed. Logan went back to chest compressions.

Time ticked by, the sounds of the ED continuing to blurring in Logan's head. He tagged out on compressions with a rather muscular nurse after the third shock. Determination leaked out of Logan with each press against Rodrigues' chest. Another doctor came over and assisted in the chest compressions once the nurse too became tired. Logan gritted his teeth. 

"Alright," Logan sighed after the nurse once again shocked Rodrigues. "It's been twenty minutes with de-fib and compressions. I'm going to call it." A silent sigh filled Bay 13. The nurses' shoulders dropped from their necks. "Time of death, 6:04 PM." The nurse with the paddles placed them back on the defibrillator and pushed it back in the corner. Another shut off the monitors, filling the bay with silence. The sheet at the bottom of the bed was pulled over Rodrigues' blood-stained face. A hand rested on Logan's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Lo," Patton sighed. Logan had nearly forgotten his husband and friend were still in the ED. Roman had indulged in the ED vending machines, holding a half-empty bag of chips in his hand. Across the room, Joan was talking to Dr. Crown in Bay 6. They glanced over at Logan before continuing their conversation.

"Well, now that that's done," Roman huffed, throwing away his chips. "You ready to head out now?" Logan opened his mouth to say 'yes', but something stopped him. He glanced back at Iago Rodrigues' body, a large figure underneath the thin sheet. A heart attack would make sense in most cases. Rodrigues had a lot of fat, so it wouldn't be a stretch to believe he didn't keep a healthy diet. He wouldn't be the first man to crash a car from a heart attack. Even the high blood pressure could be explained through the trauma of the crash. Logan wasn't one to listen to the calls of his heart, but there was a part of him that told him there was something else there.

"Are you ok, Logan?" Patton asked. He moved around Logan to look into his face and gave him a gentle smile.

"I'm alright," Logan muttered, thoughts focused somewhere else. "Excuse me." The nurses were clearing out of the bay. The doctor who assisted Logan gave him a nod and a 'sorry' before moving onto her next patient. Logan stepped towards the body, the click of his prosthetic filling the young silence (he really needed to get that fixed). Gloves still on, Logan peeled back the sheet enough to see Rodrigues' hairy arm. The red rash stood out against the ED light. Logan ran a finger down the arm. The rash felt like the scales of a cobra through the plastic of Logan's glove. Pinprick sized scabs sprinkled the rash.

"Unless you're planning to show off the necromancy you learned over the weekend," Roman grunted. "Let's get going. Pat, do you think Virgil would like ziplining?" Logan pulled the sheet back over Rodrigues. He peeled off his gloves and tossed them in the nearest biohazard bin.

"I'm afraid I need to complete a few errands," Logan grunted, slipping out of the bay. "You two are more than welcome to start the festivities without me."

"You're the most like Virgil out of the three of us," Roman whined. "How can our ideas be perfect without a bit of logical insight from you, Teach?"

"You're always declaring what a creative genius you are, Roman," Logan sighed. "I'm sure you can come up with ideas without me." He padded around Patton and Roman and crossed the ED. He stopped by the nearest sink before proceeding to his target. The EMTs who brought in Rodrigues crowded around Nate, who punched the air and chattered on, showing off his black eye.

"Excuse me," Logan said, tapping the shoulder of the EMT who filled him in earlier. The EMT turned around. "Do you know where Mr. Rodrigues' passenger was put?"

"Sandra Lakin," the EMT said. "She just had some whiplash, a few cuts. She's in Bay 2."

"Thank you," Logan said, nodding. He jogged past Joan and Dr. Crown towards Bay 2. Sandra Lakin sat on the edge of the bed in Bay 2 in a neck brace, talking to one of the nurses. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Her dirty blonde hair was in knots, makeup smeared on her face, but she seemed to enjoy whatever conversation she was having with the nurse.

"Hello there," Logan said, pushing aside the curtain and stepping in. "I'm Dr. Berry." He held out his hand. Ms. Lakin smiled and shook his hand.

"Hello," Ms. Lakin sighed. "Do you think I could get a comb? My hair's a mess."

"In a moment, if you don't mind," Logan huffed. "I have a few questions I'd like to ask you about the accident."

"What happened to the driver?" Ms. Lakin asked, glancing over Logan's shoulder.

"He didn't make it," Logan grunted. "Now, when you got into his car, did he seem in pain? Agitated?"

"Uh..." Ms. Lakin said. "Kind of out of it, if I'm honest. Really nervous, sweating buckets. He got mad at every little thing on the road. Worst Uber I've ever had. At one point, he just clutched his chest and drove us right into a post. Did he have a heart attack? My uncle had one when I was younger, it seemed like it."

"That's what I'm trying to determine, ma'am," Logan huffed. "Could you show me your arms, please?" Ms. Lakin pushed off her blanket and held her arms out like Logan was arresting her. Red splotches sprinkled her arms, crawling as far as her elbows. If Logan was a man ruled by emotions, he would have said he was scared.

"When can I go home?" Ms. Lakin sighed. "After the day I've had, I'm exhaust- hey!" Logan didn't stick around for her ramblings. He scurried away towards his desk. He plopped into his seat and pulled up his computer. Patton and Roman walked up to his desk, looking down at him.

"Logan, sweetie," Patton chuckled, failing to hide a hint of nervousness. "I know you're passionate about your job, but you're worrying me here a bit. Is something wrong?"

"I'll know in a moment," Logan huffed. He loathed having to use the Internet to clarify his knowledge, but he didn't have time for anything else if the fuzzy memories of his TA days still carried merit. He had a folder full of websites credited by doctors for up to date medical information and news. He typed in his hypothesized diagnosis and let the info pop onscreen. Logan's current knowledge fit the symptoms. If he was right, which he usually was, the birthday plans would have to be put on hold.

* * *

"Listen, hon," Remy huffed, back turned to Virgil. "If Dr. de la Cruz and Nurse Bennett don't get together, I'm gonna lose it. You gotta do something, their flirting is killing me." Virgil leaned against the counter of the Sanders Hospital coffee shop, Sweet Dreams, listening to Remy ramble on as he made Virgil's black coffee. The barista wore his usual white t-shirt and black jacket, a brown satchel dangling on his hip. He was one of those people who wore sunglasses wherever they went. 'Love Lies' played softly over the coffee shop speakers. The semi-fresh donuts sitting to the side of the counter still made Virgil's mouth water with their scent. People padded around the hospital lobby, heading towards Dot at the reception desk or towards the gift shop. Virgil still had a few more hours to go on his shift, so while many would caution against drinking coffee at six in the afternoon, Virgil ignored them.

"I'm not a matchmaker, Rem," Virgil scoffed. "What would I even do for them?"

"Tell Bennett to step it up," Remy grunted. He spun around, putting a lid on Virgil's coffee. "Those two sit at the same table every morning and spend forever flirting with each other. Bennett is the most oblivious man I've ever met."

"Eh, I think Roman wins that contest," Virgil chuckled. Remy slid the coffee across the counter. Virgil grabbed the cup and handed his credit card to Remy.

"Boy, you're right!" Remy declared, smirking as he slid the credit card through his machine.

"Attention, Sanders Hospital," a voice declared over the speakers in the ceiling. "The Emergency Department and the conjoining floor have been placed under quarantine for the indefinite future. I repeat, the Emergency Department and the conjoining floor have been placed under quarantine for the indefinite future." Virgil's grip on his coffee tightened. Voices perked up all around the lobby, doctors standing up from the tables behind the coffee shop, visitors emerging for the gift shop. Questions flew around Virgil's head. People swarmed towards Dot's desk. Remy pulled his sunglasses down enough for Virgil to see the confusion in his eyes.

"Do your job, hon," Remy said, tossing the credit card onto the counter. Virgil grabbed the card and darted across the lobby. His Crocs slapped against the tile. What mess had Logan dragged Virgil's nurses into? What in the world was in the ED that could be cause for a quarantine? Logan wouldn't declare one without good reason. Was it ebola? Oh crap, there was ebola in Miami. The other doctors and nurses on the first floor made their way towards the small staircase leading down to the basement, where the emergency department was located. Virgil squirmed his way between the staff and bolted down the stairs. At the end of the hall, people were already pulling orange quarantine tape across the glass doors leading into the emergency department. They wore surgical masks and gloves as they worked. More doors were being taped shut, plastic sealing the edges shut. The only open space on the floor was the hall Virgil raced through. The people sealing the doors looked up as Virgil's Crocs slapped across the floor.

"Sir, you can't enter," one said, blocking Virgil's path with an outstretched arm.

"Virgil Lawson, Director of Nursing," Virgil snapped, holding up the ID attached to his scrubs. "What's going on?"

"Suspected arrival of Pinto Endocrine Dysfunction Disease," the quarantiner explained. What? Virgil had never heard of that disease in his life! The look on his face must have made his thoughts clear to the quarantiner holding him back. "Blood tests are already being sent to toxicology to confirm."

"I need to talk to the people inside," Virgil grunted, stepping around the employee. They moved back into Virgil's path.

"We're getting communications established, but it's not safe to be close to the door without protection," the employee explained. "You need to step back." Virgil stuck his clenched hands into his pockets and obeyed. His eyes scanned the room through the door. Nurses crowded around one of the private observation rooms, pulling plastic barriers around the door. Beyond them, a man in a light blue polo with a cardigan around his shoulders stood at the desks, talking to Logan.

"Patton?" Virgil muttered, the fear in his chest growing. Two of his friends, stuck in the quarantine. His anxiety only became worse when Roman poked his head around the corner. He pulled his phone out and pulled up Patton's number. As he put the phone to his ear, Patton jumped inside the ED. He pulled his phone out of his pants and answered the call.

"Virgil," Patton said.

"Patton, what are you doing in there?" Virgil snapped. "What's going on? Are you sick?" Patton looked around the ED, and his eyes settled on Virgil. He said something to Logan and scurried towards the door. 

"I'm alright, kiddo," Patton huffed, stumbling to a halt by the door. "We're all fine. Logan's just taking precautions."

"What's in there?" Virgil asked, taking a step towards the door. The quarantiners eyed him, but he kept his distance. "What's the story?"

"There was a car crash involving a couple of people," Patton explained. "The driver died and Logan got suspicious cause he didn't have any serious injuries. Both the driver and his passenger had this rash and Logan thinks it might be Pinto's."

"What in the world is that?" Virgil snapped, waving his free arm around. Logan popped up behind Patton. He tapped his shoulder and held out his hand. Patton gave Logan the phone.

"Hello, Virgil," Logan sighed.

"Logan, what's Pinto's?" Virgil asked.

"You probably learned about it at one point in school," Logan huffed. "However, it's understandable that you don't remember, as the disease is rare in North America. Pinto Endocrine Dysfunction is a South American disease that targets the endocrine system. It overstimulates the system, producing vast amounts of adrenaline, serotonin, and other naturally produced hormones. However, the overstimulation puts the body into a figurative overdrive, raising heart rate and blood pressure and causing organs to overwork themselves. Both victims of the crash have the tell-tale rash that first appears in the infected and the driver had the pinpoint bleeding that marks the disease's second stage."

"Are you sure they have this?" Virgil asked, tugging on his scrub collar. "There's a lot of reasons they could have a rash."

"That's why we've sent Mr. Rodrigues, the driver's, blood to be screened," Logan sighed. "His passenger Ms. Lakin is also being screened."

"Hopefully this is nothing," Patton said, standing on his toes to speak into the phone held at Logan's face. "But we'll stay in here to make sure anyway. Better safe than sorry."

"Alright," Virgil huffed. He took a few deep breaths- the classic 4,7,8 breathing technique. "Patton, where are your scrubs?" Patton looked at his cardigan like it had just popped into existence.

"Oh, this?" Patton stammered, picking up a sleeve of his cardigan and dropping it. "Well, Lo and I were planning on a dinner date before all this happened. Get some pasta, eat some food, drink some water... you know, dinner things."

"A dinner date with Roman?" Virgil asked, pointing down the hall. Roman was chatting with one of the nurses, leaning against the desks.

"He was going to drive us," Patton squeaked.

"Yeah," Virgil said, a soft smile playing on his lips. "You know your voice gets higher when you lie?" Virgil's pager buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out.

_Chair Meeting: Thomas Sanders Office_

"Ok," Virgil sighed, putting the pager back in his pocket. "I don't know why you're lying right now since you don't like lying and all that, but I have bigger fish to fry, and so do you. Stay safe." Virgil hung up the call. Logan handed Patton his phone. Patton placed a hand on the glass wall, smiling. Virgil smiled a bit and nodded before darting down the hall.

* * *

  
**Princey** **Me: **Why was Patton lying to me?  
  
**Princey: **uhh....... what?  
  
**Me: **I asked him why he wasn't wearing scrubs and he lied. I know you know why.  
  
**Princey: **Aren't you going to Thomas's meeting?  
  
**Me: **I'm omw. But Pat doesn't lie without good reason.  
  
**Princey: **I'm fine too since you seem so worried about me.  
  
**Princey: **While the sound of your texts is welcome, I've got some things to do. We've got a lot of Spanish speaking patients here who are very confused atm. You'd think living in Miami, more of these doctors would speak Spanish.  
  
**Me: **Good luck, Princey.

Virgil stepped out of the elevator onto the top floor of Sanders Hospital alongside the chairs of neurology, oncology, urology, and radiology. That had to have been the longest elevator ride Virgil had ever taken. It felt like every floor, another chair was hopping on to get to Thomas's meeting, seeing what everyone knew.

The other chairs flooded out of the elevator behind Virgil, streaming away from Entertainment Row and towards the board rooms and offices of the top floor. More doctors flowed out of the other three elevators. Virgil joined the crowd, hands in his pockets.

”Do you how do?” a voice asked softly to his right. Virgil didn’t need to look- there was only one person he knew who greeted people like that.

”Hey, Emile,” Virgil sighed. The chair of the psychiatric department padded alongside Virgil with a wide strut, nearly kicking the chair of gynecology in front of him. He had a tan cardigan buttoned around him over his white shirt. He tucked his baby blue tie into the cardigan. He peered over his warm brown glasses, studying Virgil's face. "Don't need any analysis right now. Let's see what Thomas has to say." The chair of neurology held the door to Thomas's office open for everyone. The group filed into the spacious room, the sun burning Virgil's eyes. The nurse moved towards the bookshelves against the wall, half-filled with figurines and books and knick-knacks. Emile stood by him, his trusty notebook in one hand.

Thomas himself stood behind his desk, chair pushed to the side. He leaned over a pile of papers and only glanced up as his staff entered. His jacket hung on the back of his chair. He muttered to himself as he flipped over a document. The door to his now cramped office snapped shut. The hospital president finally looked up. 

"Ok," Thomas muttered, eyes scanning the group. "You all heard the quarantine announcement. You might also have noticed that there are a few people missing from this group. Alongside Dr. Berry, Dr. Foster, Dr. Stokes, and Mr. Prince are stuck in the ED until the quarantine is lifted." Virgil scratched at his scrubs. If Thomas was using formal titles, this wasn't a normal day in the ED. A few nervous mutters floated around the room. Thomas filled the group in on what happened, repeating the same information Logan told Virgil earlier.

"There's still a chance this isn't Pinto's," Thomas explained, moving to the front of his desk. With the sun on his back, he was a dark shadow in the middle of the office. "But Mr. Rodrigues flew into Miami this morning after visiting family in Brazil, where the disease is most often seen. We're already going through the blood work to confirm and we've got the CDC informed. They'll find the people Mr. Rodrigues flew with and quarantine them. If this is Pinto's, I don't want the public to panic. If you are approached by reporters, give no comments. We can't afford to send Miami into a tailspin about this. We're already handling potential treatment options. I know you're all worried, I am too. But for now, the best thing you all can do is keep doing your jobs. There are people in this hospital who need to be treated. Emergency cases are being sent to St. Gemma's, but we're still a working hospital. I'll keep you all informed of what's going on. So let's get back to work." Soft mutters filled the office. The door creaked open and doctors started filing back out.

"Dr. Picani, Nurse Lawson," Thomas sighed, meeting Virgil's eyes. "Can you stay here for a few minutes?"

"Aye aye, captain," Emile said. Virgil nodded, taking deep breaths. How was he supposed to work when his friends were all in danger? It seemed to take forever for everyone to leave Thomas's office. Finally, the chair of urology stepped outside and closed the door behind her. Thomas's tall figure immediately drooped and he sat on his cluttered desk.

"Oh my goodness, Virgil, Pinto's?" Thomas stammered, cupping his nose and mouth. "I didn't even know that was a thing till today!" There was the Thomas Virgil knew.

"Me neither," Virgil groaned, walking over to the hospital president. Most people would have chastised Thomas for being so friendly with his staff. It was a good thing Thomas wasn't like most presidents. Emile followed Virgil, studying the room.

"How likely is it that it isn't Pinto's?" Emile asked.

"Logan made the diagnosis, so," Virgil muttered, shrugging. Thomas groaned, leaning his head back.

"Ok, ok," Thomas muttered, running his hand through his hair. "I've got a job for you two, I need someone to handle this so I don't lose it. With Roman and Joan locked in, I've got a million more things to do than normal. I need people I know I can trust on this."

"What do you need?" Virgil asked. He glanced at Emile, who was scribbling things down in his notebook.

"The closest place with a cure for Pinto's is a lab in Phoenix," Thomas explained. "Great news there, we have a cure. The thing is, they won't fly it down here. All I'm getting is a mess of flight costs and sample fragility and all this other jargon."

"Please tell me you're joking," Virgil groaned, closing his eyes. 

"They'll drive it down if we have Pinto's, but it'll take a day and a half at least," Thomas muttered. "I'm trying to get it on a plane, but that's not what I want you two to deal with. Apparently, the cure has always been expensive, so the South American villages that tend to get the disease struggle to pay for it. The CDC's been working with Doctors Without Borders on a relief medication that could buy those people time to raise the money. It can also buy us time for the cure to be shipped in. The lab they're developing it in is in Atlanta. I need someone to drive down there and pick it up."

"Not that I'm disagreeing with you," Emile said. "But don't you think someone else should do this? If I'm honest, this is like using Humungousaur to get a cat out of a tree, it's a waste of the Omnitrix!"

"Don't get the reference, but I think I get what you're saying," Virgil muttered. "What if something happens in the ED and they need me or Emile?"

"I know, I know," Thomas groaned, shaking his head. "Trust me, I've thought about it. But I need people behind the wheel who I can keep in the loop, who I trust with all the information about what's going on. There are some vans in the employee parking lot that we sometimes take out to treat the homeless, I'm already pushing through the forms for you two to take one out to Atlanta. As soon as those results come in, I need you to head out." Thomas hopped off his desk and stood straight again. "If we want to keep our friends safe, I need you guys."

* * *

_10 minutes into quarantine_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Yeah, this is a multi-part story. Did I mention that?  
The reason it's that way is because this arc is going to be the first event of the Sanders Hospital AU on tumblr! By going to the blog, all asks until the end of this arc will be set between the installments. Certain characters will become closed to asks depending on the situation. Have fun!


	2. Confirmation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got language help! Thanks to fanderpau on Tumblr for helping me perfect my Spanish conversations featured in this chapter, beta reading, and general feedback!

_One hour into quarantine_

* * *

The temperature in the protective suit Logan wore made sweat collect around his glasses, but it was a small price to pay to live. What had once been one of the private examination rooms with bright white lighting and lots of space for equipment and personnel was now an isolation chamber. Plastic clung to the doors in long strips. The makeshift decontamination chamber one of the nurses whipped up (whoever said nurses weren't as smart as doctors, they were blind to reality) consumed the outer side of the door. Staff had to cross through the chamber, stuffed with biohazard suits and water sprayers, just to get to the other side of the hall. The bright white lights were swapped for dull yellow. Rodrigues' bed was pushed into the corner of the room, body covered with a sheet. Another wall of plastic separated Rodrigues from Ms. Lakin, who sat in her own bed. She'd traded her street clothes for a hospital gown that seemed too big on her thin frame. A rolling table sat in front of her with a few pill bottles and vials of cream.

"I know your rash itches," Logan said, his thick gloves grabbing one of the vials. "But when it does, use this cream instead. Don't scratch it, whatever you do. You'll be able to take another of these oral antihistamines in six hours or so."

"Alright," Ms. Lakin stammered, taking the vial from Logan. "Are you sure I have this Peanut's disease? My aunt gets these chronic rash flareups once a month, maybe it's just that?"

"That's why we took your blood, Ms. Lakin," Logan sighed. "And it's called Pinto's, not Peanut's."

"I'm sorry," Ms. Lakin stammered, wringing her hands. "I get easily stressed, and I ramble when I'm stressed. At least, that's what my therapist back in Chicago says, but my uncle- not the one who had a heart attack, his husband- he says that's just my personality. It can get annoying, he says."

"Whatever way you find best relaxes you, you may do. As long as you don't itch your rash. Now, you've been given a call button that will alert someone if you need anything. The monitors we have attached you to will beep should your heart rate and blood pressure spike.”

”That’s a part of the disease, right?”

”That is correct. Do you require anything else?”

“Can I ask you something?”

”There’s nothing stopping you.”

”I...” Ms. Lakin glanced at Rodrigues’ body. “I know you’ve seen plenty of people like me asking you a lot of questions like these, but... am I going to be ok? Am I going to suffer?” Logan paused a moment before answering. Promises were a doctor’s curse. There were no promises to make in medicine. Patton would have immediately reassured the woman, but Logan was not his husband.

”We will do our best to prevent that,” Logan answered. He gave Ms. Lakin a nod and stomped out of the isolation room, thick boots sticking to the floor. He stepped out of the dull yellow light and back into the white lights of the ED. More suits hung on a makeshift coat hanger, really a broken IV pole that held more weight than it should. Next to the pole was a large yellow bucket, a janitor's bucket used to store mops. For Logan, it was his drain. He pulled the bucket out and stepped into it, big boots smashed against the side. He grabbed the nozzle of one of the water sprayers (for once, not makeshift- gifts from the CDC) and started spraying his suit. He couldn't afford a piece of dust from Ms. Lakin's rashes to cling to his suit and spread onto whoever crossed into the chamber next. The sweat on Logan's glasses faded away. The water pooled around his boots.

He turned off the sprayer and set it back with its partners. He stepped out of the bucket, water dripping onto the floor. One step at a time, he took off his suit. First the boots, then the gloves, and finally the suit itself. He put each piece back next to the makeshift coat hanger and stepped out of the chamber, the bucket of contaminated water in his hands.

Most of the staff stuck in the ED were busy in one of the bays, comforting nervous patients or checking on someone's condition who should have been transferred to another department half an hour ago. Others clung to the island of desks, scrolling through their computers and typing things down. Roman sat in a bay with two little kids and their parent. He spoke Spanish faster than Logan could understand the words. Nate leaned against the door to another observation room, where the Yakimovs and McCallums were still being kept for their disturbance earlier. Logan trudged across the ED and dumped the water in the nearest sink. He went back to the decontamination chamber and dropped off the bucket.

"Logan," someone called. Patton padded around the desks, gray cardigan flopping behind him like a cape. "How's Ms. Lakin?"

"Her rash has not progressed any farther," Logan stated. "I've given her some anti-itch cream."

"I'm afraid I don't have any good news," Patton sighed, motioning a hand at nothing. "The blood work just came back. It's Pinto's."

"That's not a surprise," Logan huffed, fixing the collar of his coat. "As I said, the symptoms described by Ms. Lakin of Mr. Rodrigues's behavior prior to crashing combined with the rash were cause for suspicion." After all, when was Logan wrong about something? "Is the CDC processing the cure?"

"Yeah, that's gonna be a problem," Joan suddenly appeared between Patton and Logan. Patton yelped, shoulders flying up like a frightened cat.

"Higgledy-piggledy, Joan!" Patton gasped, hand to his heart. "You scared me!"

"Sorry, Patton," Joan sighed. "But I just got done FaceTiming Thomas. It'll take a day and a half for the cure to be driven in from Phoenix."

"Dr. Stokes, I don't know if Ms. Lakin has that long to wait," Logan huffed. "Pinto's is a fast-acting disease. With the added variables of traffic and weather, the cure may not arrive at Sanders in time to help her." 

"Can we make her comfortable, though?" Patton asked, voice drowning in pity. "Can we do anything to get the cure here faster?"

"Thomas is working on it," Joan sighed. "He's sending someone out for some medication to buy us time. Our job, for now, is to make sure more people don't get sick and treat those still in here."

"We need to let our patients know," Patton said, glancing around the ED. "They deserve answers." He didn't wait for a response- he hurried across the ED towards Roman and the family he chatted with. Patton tapped Roman's shoulder and jabbed a thumb towards Logan and Joan. Roman said something to the two kids and bowed, forearm against his chest. The two giggled and one gave Roman a curtsy while the other copied his bow. Patton took Roman's arm and pulled him towards Logan and Joan.

"We've got news?" Roman asked. Joan filled him in on the blood work results and the cure.

"You're our people person," Patton chuckled, giving Roman's forearm a gentle squeeze. "Could you explain things to everyone else?"

"And let's not give Nate any more work," Joan muttered. Roman hummed, glancing around the ED. Then he squared his jaw.

"I've got this," Roman declared. He spun around and marched into the center of the room. He waved his arms over his head. "Can I have everyone's attention, please?" The patients looked up from their phones. Visitors stood up and moved away from the bedsides of their loved ones, gathering around Roman. The doctors and nurses stood at attention. All eyes were on Roman. The director of public services cleared his throat.

"Can someone translate this into Spanish while I speak?" Roman announced, voice booming in the quiet ED. A Latina nurse stepped beside Roman. As he spoke, she spoke Spanish. "I know you've all been demanding answers for what's happening. Now, we finally have some. An hour ago, two patients came in from a car crash, one of them dying upon arrival. Both of these patients have a disease called Pinto's. This disease is airborne, so to protect the rest of the hospital, Dr. Logan Berry declared a quarantine on the Emergency Department." Voices spiked around the crowd, but Roman continued on. "The first two patients are the only ones who have the disease so far. The doctors ask everyone to keep an eye on their arms, shoulders, and chests. If you see a rash begin to form, flag someone down. It should only take a few hours before we know if anyone else is infected. Until quarantine is lifted, you'll all be well taken care of."

Demands rippled through the room. Nate pushed himself away from the door he guarded and eyed the crowd. The nurses spread through the ED, whispering calm words. They ushered visitors back to their loved ones. Doctors scurried like ants to their patients to give further detail. Logan moved next to Roman and gave him a nod of approval. The director of public services grinned.

"Logan, do you want me to help out with any patients?" Patton asked, walking in front of Logan and Roman.

"If someone requires assistance, feel free to aid them," Logan answered, fixing his glasses. Someone moved in the corner of his eye. The parent Roman had been speaking to earlier walked towards Roman. They had long black hair that puffed around their shoulders and wore a hospital gown.

"Señor Prince, mi niños están asustados," the parent sighed, looking down at Roman. Despite being younger than Roman (Logan assumed somewhere around twenty one), they towered over Roman. "No logro calmarlos. ¿Podrías hablar con ellos? Que te adoran.” Roman smiled. His chest puffed out a little like a paradise bird.

"Por supuesto, Señora Ceballos," Roman said. The mother smiled and walked back to her two children.

"Who was that, Roman?" Patton asked.

"The Ceballos family," Roman explained. "Señora Ceballos was here thanks to some bad food truck chicken. She and her kids don't speak a lick of English. They’re puertoriqueños, from Puerto Rico. Her kids, Augustin and Jordana, are a little freaked out."

"Aw, poor things!" Patton whined, hand to his heart. Patton, being Patton, padded towards the Ceballos family in Bay 9. Roman hurried after him. Logan's eyes followed them, but halted at Bay 10. Milena Yakimov watched the ED with clear eyes, unburdened by the haze of her accident. Her bob cut hair was a rat's nest against her bed. Logan would need to talk to her.

When Roman and Patton approached the Ceballos, the two children, Augustin and Jordana, sat on the floor. They faced one another, whispering. The one facing out glanced up and saw Roman.

”¡Jordana, El Príncipe!” The child, who must have been Augustin, gasped. Jordana scrambled up and stared into Roman’s eyes.

“That is such a cute name!” Patton giggled. “Too bad I don’t know what that means.”

”¡Hola, Senorita Jordana!” Roman declared, bowing. Jordana gave him her best curtsy. “¡Tu y Augustin están siendo muy valientes!"

"¿Valientes?" Jordana scoffed. "Augustin casi lloró."

"¡Mentira!" Augustin huffed, standing up.

"Está bien, está bien," Roman chuckled. "El miedo es bueno."

"¿Pero... no es peligroso el Pinto?" Augustin asked. He tugged on the edge of his Disney World t-shirt, fingers digging into the seams. "¿Mamá está en peligro? ¿Jordana está en peligro? ¿Yo estoy en peligro? El estómago de Mamá está mal, ¡ella se enfermará!"

"Respira, Augustin," Roman muttered, crouching to the boy's level. "Respira. Los medicos ayudarán a tu madre." Roman rubbed his chin and hummed to himself. "Te gusta Disney?" Augustin looked at his shirt, like he just realized what the logo was. He nodded. Roman turned to Patton and grinned.

"Patton, I need a tray, some water, and a few things from the vending machines," Roman declared, dramatically pointing at Patton. "Candy, chips, whatever!" Patton smiled and saluted Roman like a soldier. Roman looked back to Augustin and Jordana and said "Un momento, por favor." Roman and Patton scurried off, leaving Augustin and Jordana sharing confused glances. Logan ignored the antics of his friend and husband and moved into Bay 10.

"Hello there, Ms. Yakimov," Logan said. Milena squirmed in her bed, eyes burrowing into Logan. "My name is Dr. Berry. Do you remember arriving here?"

"Uh..." Milena groaned, blinking slowly. "I think so. The car... Jessie?"

"Ms. McCallum is recovering as well," Logan sighed. "What else do you remember?" Logan grabbed a small flashlight from the various pieces of equipment in the bay. "Follow the light, please." Logan shined the light into Milena's eyes. She winced, squinting into the flashlight.

"My parents came here with me," Milena groaned. She sighed and lifted a shaking hand to gently facepalm herself. "Did Mom punch someone?"

"Your parents got into a brief altercation with the parents of Ms. McCallum," Logan sighed, putting down the flashlight. "I believe you have a concussion. However, under quarantine, we won't be able to confirm that with a CT scan."

"I think I remember the quarantine thing," Milena muttered. "I heard the dude's speech. I'm sorry about my parents. They've been fighting with the McCallums since we moved to Miami. Classic white suburban families. It's like _The Burbs, _but with less murder and more mowing privileges."

"Mowing privileges..." Logan muttered, squinting his eyes as he dove into his mind, trying to understand what mowing privileges were. He sighed and did a quick mental reset. "In the crash, you gained a fracture on your left tibia and a stable fracture on the right side of your pelvis. Some of the muscles in your back were torn as well. We've set your leg, and in regards to your back and pelvis, you'll simply require bed rest to allow your body to heal."

"How much trouble did my parents get into this time?" Milena asked. The hand by her face traced down her body, towards her broken leg.

"This time?" Logan asked, cocking an eyebrow. "This is not the first incident of physical violence your parents have shone?"

"Most of the time, it's passive-aggressive nonsense," Milena muttered. "Don't misunderstand what I'm saying, they're good parents, they just hate the McCallums. One day it's a few snide comments about Mr. McCallum's garden, another day they'll offer Jessie something like they don't think her parents can provide it. The McCallums act the same. That's, that's why I was in Jessie's truck, you see. My car was stuck in my faulty garage, and I needed to get to my tennis match. Me and Jessie are on the same team, so the McCallums suggested Jessie drive me there. Dad's face was tomato red, it was..." Milena chuckled, rolling her eyes. "Actually a little funny that time. But yeah, sometimes everything boils up and things get a bit out of control. Let's just say Mrs. McCallum's banned from attending Speech and Debate meetings."

"Fascinating," Logan mumbled. The soft breeze of someone racing past whisked up the tail of Logan's coat. Roman carried a metal tray under his arm. He set it down on the desks. Patton held something in his arms, covered by his cardigan. He dumped whatever he held onto the tray. As the two whispered, Augustin padded out of Bay 9, watching. He leaned back and grabbed Jordana's hand, pulling her out. Roman spun around and clapped his hands. The two children jumped slightly, eyes glancing around him to see what he had.

"Ma chère mademoiselle," Roman declared, waving a hand over his head flamboyantly. "Con gran orgullo para todos y un enorme placer te damos la bienvenida. Y ahora te invitamos a relajarte, a ponerte cómoda en tu silla, pues el comedor se representar..." Even though Logan didn't understand what Roman said, he had a vague idea what he was going to do. But did he have to do it in his ED? Roman turned back around and whispered to Patton "Follow my lead." Roman turned back around. He balanced the metal tray on one hand. A small stack of candy bars, a bag of chips, and a package of donuts sat on the tray.

"_Nuestro..._" Roman sang softly, crouching down to Jordana and Augustin's levels. "_Huésped, sea usted, venga el servicio a probar. Una servilleta así, chérie, y yo hago lo demás._" Augustin's face lit up, a giant smile spreading on his face. Señora Cebolla, who sat on the bed in Bay 9, leaned forward and watched Roman, smiling softly. Augustin tugged on his sister's sleeve like she wasn't equally fascinated by Roman's childishness.

"_Soup du jour, buen hors d'oeuvres, nuestra vida es atender,_" Roman sang. He took the bag of chips and ripped them open with dramatic flair. He handed the bag to Jordana. "_Pruebe usted que maravilla. ¿No me cree? ¡Pregunte a la vajilla!_" Roman waved a hand towards Patton. Patton smiled and waved his arms around like a cartoon character running in place. Jordana laughed, taking a handful of chips. "_A cantar, a bailar, está es Francia, no olvidar, ¡la comida aquí es primero ya se ve!_" Roman set the tray at the children's feet. He took Jordana's hand and let her spin around. "_Consulte su menú, escoja su ambigú, y pida usted nuestro huésped sea usted._"

"We are in here for an hour and he's already begun singing Disney songs," Logan muttered, glancing at Milena, who looked equally as confused as he was. "I would have thought madness would need more time to take hold." 

* * *

"_I wanna be, I wanna be, I wanna be famous!_" Emile sang along to his playlist flowing out of the van speakers. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. For a man driving to save his friends, he was surprisingly relaxed. He'd changed into a _Steven Universe_ t-shirt before he and Virgil had hopped into the van. Not wanting to wear scrubs in a strange van for ten hours, Virgil copied Emile. He'd grabbed his homemade black hoodie with the stitched on plaid purple patches from his mom's favorite shirt and an old _Panic! At the Disco_ shirt. He still wore his Crocs, though. The theme song ended, and for a moment Virgil's ears were spared. Then a Phineas and Ferb song started playing. Worse yet, it was a rap about squirrels. Virgil bit back a groan when Emile started rapping along. Any other day Virgil would have tolerated it, maybe even enjoyed the music. Today was not that day.

The off-tan interior of the white hospital van smelled like disinfectant. The rough seat carpet belonged in the 1970's. A similarly carpeted wall blocked Virgil and Emile from the back of the van. Virgil had glanced back there before they took off- it was a mini observation room, with counters attached to the walls and a hanging light above a bed screwed into the floor. Everything was at least a few years old and in need of an update, but it served its purpose for now- get Virgil and Emile to Atlanta and get the stupid medication. A cheesy Hawaiian bobblehead sat on the car mantel, dancing along to the Phineas and Ferb song. Virgil leaned against the shotgun door and pressed his head against the warm glass. 

The slow traffic in the lane to the right of Emile and Virgil blocked Virgil's view of the flooded land beside the highway. Storm clouds blocked the arrival of dusk, rain sprinkling onto the road. License plates from all across the southern U.S joined the van on its journey. The rumble of the road underneath flowed through Virgil. The van's tall shadow danced over trucks and sedans and Chevys.

"What does the GPS say for time, Virgil?" Emile asked, glancing at the nurse. Virgil grabbed Emile's phone, plugged into the speakers of the car through a strange mixture of wires and adaptors. Emile's phone cover was tan with the Bill Cipher wheel on the back. Virgil opened the phone and pulled up the GPS.

"We've still got nine hours to go," Virgil muttered. "And that's with good traffic." Virgil plopped the phone back down. He took out his own phone and started scrolling through Tumblr. It was probably a mistake to follow news threads on that site. A dozen different posts about the Sanders Hospital ED quarantine filled his screen. Questions, theories, reports, even a few memes flowed through his feed. Virgil frowned and stuffed his phone back into his hoodie. The squirrel rap ended, only to be replaced with a sci-fi sounding song Virgil didn't recognize. He chewed on his lip. Nine hours to worry about Patton, Roman, Logan, Joan, Nate, and everyone else stuck in the ED. He'd barely been able to focus over the hour it took for the blood tests to come back positive. It didn't help that what work he managed to complete was comforting nervous patients confused over the quarantine alarm.

"_So if you see him you might be in for a big surprise_," Emile sang softly, head bobbing to the beat. He suddenly stopped singing and let out a small gasp. Virgil straightened up, eyes darting to the road in front of them. Did Emile see something? Was there an accident? "I could dress up Ben as Ben 10 for Halloween! That would be adorable!" Virgil could almost see Emile's pupils turn star-shaped. Virgil sighed and settled back against the door, glaring at Emile.

"How are you so peppy right now?" Virgil muttered.

"Did you say something, Virgil?" Emile asked, not taking his eyes off the road. Virgil bit his lip again, but then let out a huff.

"How can you listen to cartoons at a time like this?" Virgil huffed, leaning against the back of his seat.

"I drive better with music," Emile admitted with a shrug. "Cartoons are kinda all I have on there."

"I mean, how are you not worried?" Virgil huffed. "You're singing along to Phineas and Ferb, thinking about costumes for the psych ward service dog, you're so relaxed. I don't get you, Doc. Our friends could die if we don't get to Atlanta in time. Pinto's is deadly. Those idiotic people in Phoenix refuse to put the cure on a plane. People are counting on us. If quarantine fails, we could have an epidemic on our hands! How are you calm?"

"Well," Emile sighed, slowing down enough to allow a minivan to slide into their lane. "There's nothing we can do about the quarantine except drive. It's gonna take a while to get there. Worrying all that way will only wear us out."

"There's so much that could go wrong if we mess up," Virgil muttered, one hand in his pocket digging into the semi-soft protective cover of his phone. "How am I supposed to not stress out?"

"Are you asking Emile your friend," Emile said. "Or Dr. Picani the therapist?"

"Whoever can answer my question," Virgil grumbled, glancing over the roof of the minivan in front of them. An old part of Virgil groaned inside of him. _Are you really being vulnerable? That's not safe- people manipulate the vulnerable. He didn't teach you anything, did he? _Virgil shoved those old thoughts down. Even after all his growth, those thoughts still occasionally popped up.

"Can you pause the music?" Emile asked. Virgil obeyed and reopened Emile's phone, pausing his music in the middle of yet another Phineas and Ferb song. "Do you remember that one episode of Ben 10-"

"Hold on," Virgil interrupted. "I've heard about the show but I never got around to watching it. It's the one with the watch that turns the kid into aliens, right?"

"Right!" Emile chirped. "Basically, Ben Tennyson is on a summer road trip with his Grandpa Max and cousin Gwen. He sneaks away one night and finds a mysterious green watch that attaches itself to his wrist. With the watch, Ben can turn into ten different aliens, though he gets more forms as the show goes on. He gets to live out the ten-year-olds classic dream of being a superhero. With Gwen and his grandpa helping him out, Ben fights alien and human threats and learns how to use his power wisely and selflessly. While Ben does his best to enjoy his summer and be a kid, there are a lot of people after him. His watch, the Omnitrix, is incredibly powerful, and could hurt a lot of people in the wrong hands. And considering it can't come off his arm..." Emile lifted a hand and karate chopped his other arm.

"Ouch," Virgil muttered.

"Yeah, ouch is an understatement," Emile chuckled. "Now throughout the show, Ben acts like the stereotypical ten-year-old boy- selfish, prideful, all of that. But one of his defining traits is his desire to help others and keep his family safe. Even when his selfishness gets him into trouble, that desire overrules everything and makes him a good hero. It also causes him a lot of stress. It's a lot for a ten-year-old to handle! Everything he does reflects onto Gwen and his grandpa. In one episode, Grandpa Max helps Ben dodge an attack, but gets hurt in the process."

"Was he ok?" Virgil asked.

"He has to go to the hospital," Emile admitted. "Ben feels like he's to blame for the danger his family is in and feels like he isn't doing enough to protect them. He stresses himself out enough that he tries to run away from Gwen and Grandpa Max so they wouldn't get involved in the danger he was in. As the series goes on, though, Ben becomes better at managing his stress and not letting himself overthink things. Sure there are aliens roaming over his head that want to chop his arm off, and that's a stressful thought, but Ben can't control that. He's stuck with the Omnitrix, like how everyone's stuck in the ED. All he can do is focus on the current bad guy he needs to fight and whoever he needs to save."

"So I'm Ben in this analogy?" Virgil asked.

"Yes!" Emile exclaimed. "It's not perfect by any means, but no analogy ever is. It's like I tell my patients, relating your experiences to a fictional character can help you better understand them. It gives you a place to analyze what's going on without personal attachment. The bad guy we're focusing on is the medication down in Atlanta. Since all we can control is getting there, I say enjoy the ride!" Emile leaned back and rolled down his window, letting the rain spitting down plop into the van. Virgil put both hands in his pockets and leaned against the door. It wasn't a shock to him that Emile was such a good therapist. Even if Virgil still wondered if a rash was appearing on Patton's arms, it didn't seem as urgent as before.

"Thanks, Doc," Virgil sighed as the wind rushed into the van.

* * *

"There are a million things I could have done with my time," Joan muttered, staring at the door. "I could have done that oncology consult. I could have emailed back that old patient of mine who wanted me to come to his AA meeting. But no, I came down here to handle a PTA fight."

"Welcome to a day in the life of Nate Christopoulos," Nate snorted, leaning against the door hinges. "Holding back violent patients and more violent parents."

"How long've they been in there?" Roman asked. He stood next to Joan with crossed arms, just as thrilled as they were about the whole mess.

"A few hours by now, I think," Nate muttered. "But hey, that's what happens when you break someone's nose."

"They're oddly quiet," Roman muttered. "Like a toddler out of sight."

"Yeah, that's cause I told 'em if they picked another fight with each other I'd handcuff them to the furniture," Nate chuckled. "They've severely misjudged the number of handcuffs I have." Nate turned to the door and grabbed the doorknob. He glanced over his shoulder at Joan and Roman. "Good luck." Nate pulled the door open and Joan and Roman trudged inside.

This examination room was one of the smaller ones, but the Yakimovs and McCallums somehow made the room feel split in half. The McCallums stood beside the door, attention already on Roman and Joan. The couple could have easily claimed to be twins- they both had thick heads of curly ginger hair and slender builds. Even the laugh lines on their faces were similar. Mr. McCallum held an ice pack to his stomach. The Yakimovs stood beside the cupboards on the other side of the room, deep in conversation. Mr. Yakimov reminded Roman of a humanized Scar- matted black hair, sharp cheekbones, lean muscle. But where Mr. Yakimov was Scar, Mrs. Yakimov was Nala- sandy blonde hair that fell to her chest, youthful green eyes, and an Olympic volleyball player's build. Based on her arms alone, Roman wasn't surprised Mr. McCallum's stomach still hurt. The Yakimovs looked up when Joan shut the door.

"I really hope you all understand just how inappropriate you were," Joan huffed, crossing their arms.

"On behalf of my husband and I, I am very sorry for our behavior," Mrs. McCallum sighed. She walked up to Joan and Roman and shook both their hands. "You must be Dr. Stokes and..."

"Roman Prince," Roman said, giving a little bow. "And I believe Mr. Christopoulos is the one you should be apologizing to."

"Oh my, has his eye gotten any better?" Mrs. McCallum huffed, glancing at the door. "I was aiming for Mrs. Yakimov."

"You shouldn't have been aiming for anyone," Joan snapped. They looked around the room. "What were you thinking, fighting in our ED?"

"Things got a little heated today," Mr. Yakimov sighed. "Do either of you have children?" Joan and Roman shook their heads. "Then it may be difficult to imagine how angry you get when someone puts your child in danger."

"Jessie did not cause that accident," Mr. McCallum hissed.

"She was the one driving, wasn't she?" Mr. Yakimov huffed.

"Alright, crabby pants," Roman huffed. "You'll get to see your daughters when we clear these murky waters of war between you."

"How is Milena?" Mrs. Yakimov asked.

"She's doing alright," Joan sighed. "Listen, your fight broke the nose of one of our residents, Dr. Kylie Crown. She's thinking about pressing charges. Now she may reconsider if you all apologize to her and are willing to pay for any costs involved in fixing her nose."

"Of course," Mr. Yakimov sighed, rubbing his bruised knuckles. Mr. McCallum nodded solemnly. Roman padded around Joan and Mrs. McCallum and plopped down on the unoccupied bed in the center of the room.

"So Dr. Berry said that Milena said this has happened before," Roman huffed. "At this point, I don't think it's an issue we can ignore."

"That's just how it is between us," Mrs. Yakimov grunted. "We've never gotten along on anything."

"Well, your husband and Mr. McCallum just agreed to pay for Dr. Crown's nose," Roman pointed out, pointing at the two men. "That's something." The two men locked eyes.

"It's not as though we didn't wish things were better," Mrs. Yakimov huffed. "But from the day we arrived, the McCallums always found something to nit-pick us about. Parenting choices, garden decor, there's always something wrong with us. They even blame us for our garage breaking."

"We wouldn't even be in this situation if you took better care of your garage, _Kate_," Mrs. McCallum sighed. "And I'd thank you not to talk about us as though we aren't in the room."

"Don't forget who drove into the intersection, _Marylin_," Mrs. Yakimov snapped. "You offered Milena a spot in Jessie's car."

"I don't like what you're implying," Mrs. McCallum growled.

"What did we just say?" Roman huffed, waving his arms in the air. "No fighting!"

"Your relationships with one another should have never gotten bad enough to reach this point," Joan grunted. "How long have you known each other?"

"Kate and I have known the McCallums since Milena was seven," Mr. Yakimov explained.

"That's a decade of fighting between you," Joan huffed. "This can't be good for your daughters."

"We stay peaceful when they're around," Mrs. Yakimov stammered.

"Well that's clearly not true," Roman muttered. "Since you literally just punched each other in front of Milena and Jessie. What kid wants to see their parents like that?" For once, the couples didn't have an answer ready.

"Sanders has some group therapy sessions available," Joan sighed, rubbing the bridge of their nose. "It might be best for everyone if you attend a few sessions together." The McCallums glanced at the Yakimovs, both making eye contact for a few moments before looking away. "You all have tempers that get the better of you. No one wants that to reflect on Milena and Jessie."

"We'd never do anything to hurt Jessie," Mr. McCallum grunted.

"Then prove it," Joan huffed. "Dr. Crown'll come in here soon to discuss potential charges and payment. I want all of you to come to some sort of agreement to keep the peace before I feel remotely comfortable letting you roam the ED. If I get another incident like that again, as soon as quarantine is lifted, I won't hesitate to have Mr. Christopoulos escort you all to jail. We're arranging dinner to be moved through the quarantine for everyone soon." With that, Joan opened the door and stalked out of the room. Roman hopped off the bed and scurried after them.

"Glad to see neither of you got punched," Nate scoffed, pushing the door closed once Roman slipped out. Roman stuck his hands into the pockets of his letter jacket.

"If they weren't around each other, I'd say they were remorseful for the fight," Roman muttered. He walked beside Joan as they padded around the ED, eyes glazing over the beds.

"We've got enough to do without worrying about those four," Joan grumbled. They walked past Bay 9, where Augustin chatted with Señora Cebolla, sitting beside her on the bed. Roman waved as he walked by.

"You know, since we're in here for a while," Roman said. "I've been meaning to ask you about this little theater idea I had." Before Roman could explain, someone started gagging. Roman and Joan shared a glance. They followed the gagging past Bay 10, where Milena looked up from her phone (which wasn't damaged in the crash, through some miracle). In Bay 11, Jessie McCallum was awake, long ginger curls puffing up around her like a mane. Her right arm was in a purple cast and bandages wrapped around her neck. She was also rolled onto her good arm, vomiting over the side of her bed. Joan cussed and rushed to Jessie's side.

"Oh, uh," Roman stammered, looking around. "Can we get a nurse over here, please?" Joan grabbed a nearby trash bin and held it under Jessie's face. The teen dry-heaved a bit, but all that came out now was spit.

"There you go, there you go," Joan muttered, patting Jessie's back.

"Is something wrong with Jessie?" Milena asked through the curtain separating the bays.

"My stomach hurts," Jessie groaned. Her left arm shook as she tried to push herself up. A nurse whooshed past Roman and gently grabbed Jessie. He and Joan helped her lay back onto the bed, keeping her on her side.

"This a new pain, hon?" the nurse asked, his voice soft as he moved the hair away from Jessie's mouth.

"I felt like this this morning," Jessie groaned. "I thought it was just bad cramps." Jessie's forehead glistened in the white ED light. It didn't take a medical degree to tell she had a fever.

"Jessie, I'm going to push on your stomach," Joan said. "Roman, grab me the gloves behind the desk." Roman snapped to attention and dove over the desk, grabbing the box of blue gloves and handing a pair to Joan. "I need you to tell me if you feel pain, and where." Jessie nodded, closing her eyes tight and gritting her teeth. Joan slipped on the rubber gloves. They moved Jessie's hospital gown to reveal her stomach. Their fingers pressed against her left side.

"Ow, yeah, that hurts, right side," Jessie gasped, her good hand gripping her bedsheets. Joan frowned slightly.

"Jessie?" Milena called again.

"Nurse Fleming, could you find an ultrasound machine?" Joan asked, looking up at the nurse. He nodded and hurried away. Roman glanced over at Bay 10. Milena leaned forward as far as she could with her injuries, trying to see what was going on. "Jessie, can you describe your pain to me? Give me some details."

"I," Jessie sighed, shaking as she tried to sit up. "I started hurting after breakfast, but I just thought it was my cramps again, so I took a Midol, but it didn't go away. It kept growing, but I needed to get to tennis..." Nurse Fleming wheeled a contraption past Roman into the bay.

"Jessie, Nurse Fleming is going to rub some gel on the right side of your stomach and get an ultrasound of you," Joan explained, glancing up at Nurse Fleming as they talked. He gave Joan a quick nod. He grabbed a tube and rubbed a clear gel against Jessie's stomach. He then pressed a rod with a round end against the gel and turned on the machine he brought with. As he moved the rod over Jessie's stomach, a hazy black and white image that Roman barely understood popped onto the machine's screen.

"Jessie," Joan said, eyes scanning the screen. "We'll run this image by radiology to make sure, but I believe you have appendicitis."

"What?" Jessie stammered.

"It's ok," Joan stammered, holding out their hands like they were calming a bull. "It's treatable. I promise." A few more nurses rushed around Roman. One started mopping up the vomit while others took Joan's spot, whispering gentle words to Jessie. Roman would never understand the strange secret language of the nurses. Joan squeezed out of the bay and to Roman's side.

"Appendicitis, is that the one you remove the appendix for?" Roman whispered, glancing at the crowded Bay 11.

"Yeah," Joan huffed, fingering the beanie in their pocket. "From the ultrasound, I don't think that appendix will stay whole until morning. Removing it is the safest bet. That is, if we weren't currently quarantined in the ED, which doesn't have enough supplies to do a safe organ removal."

"Oh," Roman said, hands clenching in his pockets.

"Yeah," Joan huffed. They grabbed Roman's arm and tugged him across the ED. "Oh."

* * *

_Three hours into quarantine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Augustin shouted mentira, it means lies. He basically shouted 'Falsehood!'  
Things are picking up in the ED! If you'd like to know what Remus is up to during all this chaos, check out the official Sanders Hospital blog and follow his misadventures in our asks!


	3. Discussion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyyyy, just in time for Joan Appreciation Day! We love ya, Joan! Keep up the good work!

_Four hours after quarantine_

* * *

  
**Virge** **Virge: **Appendicitis? Are you sure?  
  
**Me: **all the tests confirm it. we're planning on removing it soon.  
  
**Virge: **Do you have enough supplies for a safe removal? Blood, the right medication?  
  
**Me: **the cdc is gonna get some more blood (we're a bit low with what we can access) and everything else we can think of that we don't have in here, but it might take a while. we only just got dinner.  
  
**Virge: **What did you get?  
  
**Me: **turkey sandwiches or pbjs, oranges, chips, and water. a few special dishes for a muslim couple and someone with a nut allergy.  
  
**Virge: **Are you in quarantine or at summer camp?  
  
**Me: **XD how's the drive?  
  
**Virge: **Quiet so far. Traffic's cleared out. Emile's playing the Spiderverse soundtrack. It's actually pretty good. Everyone ok down there?

Patton sent Virgil a thumbs-up emoji, followed by a smiling cat face. He sat on an unused bed sitting near the isolated observation room. His head leaned against the window looking into the room. His legs dangled off the bed, softly kicking back and forth. A brown paper bag laid beside him, its contents spilling onto the covers. Patton stuck his hands into the small chip bag and stuffed a handful of chips into his mouth.

"Is our knight in dark armor doing well?" Roman asked through a mouthful of turkey. He sat criss-cross on the floor across from Patton. His lunch sat in his lap. Nate sat beside him, staring at the ED behind his sunglasses. One hand tugged at his long hair while the other peeled his orange. Logan had pulled up a chair from his desk and ate using the bed as a table. Most of the ED's patients and visitors had tried to get some sleep, but everyone woke up for a chance at a meal. The Ceballos twins pelted each other with orange peels. 

"They're on their way," Patton reported, setting down his phone.

"Patton, Roman, after you finish eating, perhaps you should find a place to sleep," Logan suggested. He spun the cap off his water and took a long drink. "I can awaken you when the situation develops." Patton hid a grin with another mouthful of chips. Logan had finally let go of the professional titles he was so strict about using at the hospital. It probably wouldn't last long, but Patton would enjoy it for however long it did.

"And miss the drama?" Roman scoffed, juggling his orange. "I would rather volunteer as tribute in the Hunger Games."

"I need to keep an eye on Jessie," Patton sighed. "If her appendix gets any worse, we'll need to speed up her surgery."

"There's something I don't get," Roman huffed. "If the CDC is making sure you've got what you need for the surgery, what's the big concern?"

"A surgery is never a guarantee, Roman," Logan sighed, fixing his glasses with his classic Teacher face. "We are slicing open a person's body and putting our hands around their organs. When doctors discuss surgical risks with their patients, they discuss every detail, no matter how unlikely. We can prepare as much as we can, but without a proper operating room, there's the chance that one of those risks will occur and we will lack the proper tools. We are not a trauma center, and many of the doctors and nurses in the quarantine have not done surgeries like this in a long time. Hospitals don't operate like medical dramas. We are not all skilled in every aspect of medical care."

"I bet this isn't how you thought Virgil's birthday planning would go," Nate chuckled, tossing an orange slice into his mouth.

"Virgil!" Patton gasped. Nate choked on his orange, coughing and hitting his chest. "Oh my goodness! How did I forget about his birthday? He's going to spend his birthday on the road!"

"Perhaps we can think of something to do here for him," Roman mused, rubbing his chin.

"Wouldn't a quick 'Happy Birthday' text suffice?" Logan asked.

"It won't, and you know it," Patton huffed, smiling.

"We can do a grand show!" Roman declared, holding his half-eaten sandwich high like a sword. "Surely even he would smile at a fun music video!"

"Perhaps something more grounded," Logan sighed, rubbing his shoulder.

"A long drive is a great way to spend a birthday," Nate said, having finished choking. "Just you, some music, and the open road. And your GPS blaring directions in your ear every time you stop at a gas station."

"We just gotta think- what would Virgil like?" Patton hummed.

"Some peace and quiet?" Logan muttered. He took a drink from his water bottle. Something slammed against the window behind Patton. Patton and Logan jumped, water spilling onto Logan. Ms. Lakin looked through the window, both hands on the glass. Dots of blood sprinkled the rash on her arms.

"Hello, uh," Ms. Lakin stammered, voice muffled behind the glass. "I know you told me there was a call button or something but I don't know where it is, I was sleeping, and I woke up and there was blood on my arms and my chest hurts, I might be having a heart attack? I think it's a heart attack, it sounds like what my uncle told me, but I'm freaking out, and-" Ms. Lakin leaned her head against the glass. Her quick breaths fogged up the glass.

"Ms. Lakin, try to get back to your bed," Logan declared, bolting up. "We'll be right in. Dr. Foster, Mr. Christopoulos, come with me."

"Right!" Patton stammered, hopping off the stretcher. Nate pushed himself up and the trio hurried into the decontamination chamber. Patton scrambled into the biohazard suit, his cardigan making odd lumps in the suit. His sticky hands wouldn't slip into the gloves. The rubber kept rubbing red patches into his hands. Logan, suit already on, grabbed Patton's hands. He held Patton by the wrist and slipped the gloves on with one swift motion. Patton smiled up at his husband. He stuffed his feet into his boots and entered Ms. Lakin's room with Logan and Nate.

She was still leaning against the window, panting like a wild beast. Small blood smears coated her arms. Her hands ran up and down her body, rubbing the blood away. She'd dragged her monitors across the room, which were now beeping wildly as her heart rate went up. Her IVs pulls against her wrists. Crazed eyes looked up at the newcomers.

"Hello," Ms. Lakin panted. "I- I'm sorry." Her hands pulled on the collar of her hospital gown, revealing the blood sprinkled rash on her chest.

"Nate, help her to the bed," Patton said, taking a step towards Ms. Lakin.

"No!" Ms. Lakin gasped, backing away. She held a blood-stained palm out. "Don't, don't come near me."

"Ok," Patton whispered. He held his hands over his head. "Ok. We'll stay right here." For a moment, Patton wished Virgil and Emile were there. He threw that thought into his mental trashcan. 

"What's happening?" Nate asked.

"Ms. Lakin, I believe you are experiencing a panic attack, possibly some paranoia" Logan explained, stepping next to Patton. "They are common symptoms of Pinto's."

"I'm dying, right?" Ms. Lakin stammered. "I- this is just what I expected, this is death."

"Try to breathe with me, Ms. Lakin," Logan said. Patton saw movement in the corner of his eye. Nurses scurried into the decontamination chamber. They would be in soon. "Calming your breathing will help you feel better. Can you sit down?" Ms. Lakin whimpered, leaning back against the window. "Breathe in for four seconds. One, two..." Ms. Lakin gasped, chest lifting as Logan counted. "Three, four. Now hold the breath for seven seconds. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven." As soon as Logan stopped counting, Ms. Lakin let out a long, shaky breath.

"Let's go back to bed," Patton said softly. "You can sleep."

"I looked up Pinto's," Ms. Lakin gasped with a death grip on her gown. "The bleeding, I'm getting worse, I'm going to die."

"You won't die," Patton assured her. He took a careful step towards her, then another. "We're taking care of you. I'm sure some sleep will make you feel better." Patton held out his hand. The death-grip of Ms. Lakin's right hand began to relax. She moved her shaking hand towards Patton. The observation room doors creaked open. A pair of nurses used the only suits left and stepped into the room. Ms. Lakin pulled her hand back.

"No, you need to leave!" Ms. Lakin stammered, shaking her head. "Leave!"

"We're here to help you," Patton said. As soon as he took another step towards Ms. Lakin, Patton knew he had made a mistake. Ms. Lakin's leg shot up and hit... a very uncomfortable spot, to say the least. Patton stumbled back, groaning. Logan's hands steadied him. Nate charged past the couple. Ms. Lakin flailed her hands and Nate grabbed her wrists. He pulled her arms behind her as the monitors went crazy.

"Don't touch me!" Ms. Lakin shouted. Nate dragged her across the room as the two nurses swarmed Ms. Lakin. Nate shoved her onto the bed and with the help of one of the nurses pinned Ms. Lakin to the bed. The other nurse hurried to the cabinets bathed in dull yellow light. They grabbed a small vial and a syringe while Logan joined in the efforts to hold Ms. Lakin down. The patient thrashed against her captors, her eyes resembling a wild animal in a cage. Patton hadn't realized just what an 'endocrinal dysfunction' meant until that moment.

"You're keeping me in here with a corpse!" Ms. Lakin growled. The nurse filled the syringe with what was in the vial and rushed to Ms. Lakin's IV. They pushed the syringe into the IV. Slowly but surely, Ms. Lakin's thrashing calmed down. Her limbs relaxed. She didn't push against Nate and Logan. Her body laid limb on the bed, heart rate going down. Her eyes drifted closed. A collective sigh of relief filled the room.

"Didn't know she was this bad," Nate huffed, stretching his arms overhead.

"If she was asleep, she wouldn't have known when she started bleeding," Logan huffed, crossing his arms. "From there, she moved onto the more emotional stages of the disease."

"You good, Patton?" Nate asked. Patton leaned with his elbows on his knees. He gave the group a thumbs-up and groaned.

* * *

As a theatre kid, Roman could never resist the call of musical cast recordings. If he heard the proper notes, he was like a bloodhound- he'd hunt down the source and indulge in melodramatic singing and general narcissism. How could he not? Theatre was basically magic, after all. It could always keep him entertained. So as he listened to Thomas, Joan, and Logan gabber on, he hummed the _Waitress_ soundtrack under his breath. He leaned against the door to the small room where they'd set up Thomas's TV.

"Be honest," Thomas huffed. His face bounced on the TV screen, showing his office in live time. A desk lamp lit up the papers littering the desk's surface and Thomas's droopy face. His eyes were looking particularly Virgil-like that night. "What are Ms. Lakin's recovery chances?"

"Considering Nurse Lawson and Dr. Picani are only about halfway to Atlanta," Logan sighed, fixing his glasses. "The chances are in the lower range of probability. We have everything we need to keep her comfortable and stabilize her mood swings with some accuracy."

"What's the progress on Jessie McCallum's surgery?" Thomas sighed, running his hands through his hair.

"We're still waiting on the CDC to get the stuff through," Joan explained. "She's stable for now. We've started her on ampicillin. Since Patton's stuck down here, he's gonna help with her case."

"Hey, you guys are low on blood, right?" Roman said, raising his hand. "Maybe we can do a blood drive or something with the folks we've got here? Would that help?"

"Good idea," Joan said, looking back at Roman. "Could you handle that?"

"I'm on it," Roman chirped. He gave the group a little salute. "I'll leave the medical junk to the doctors." Roman slipped out of the room, closing the door with his foot. His hands fiddled in the pockets of his letter jacket. He got this. He could do a blood drive. He'd organized plenty of blood drives in normal situations. In fact, Roman promised himself he would be the first person in the ED to volunteer his blood for Jessie (he was O-, after all, and in perfect health, not to brag or anything). Perhaps it was a bit more stressful when he was collecting blood for a person with a face instead of expressionless statistics on a page, but that wouldn't change anything! He finally had something to do!

"_Ok, when the doctor started using phrases like 'you'll pass away', what could I say?_" a quiet voice sang from somewhere in the ED. "_I said Doctor, in plain English, tell me why I was chosen, why me of all men?_" Roman would recognize a Falsettos song anywhere! But who was singing it? He was certain it wasn't the Ceballos, even though the sound came from somewhere near their bay. He padded across the ED, checking each bay he passed. Most of the patients were fast asleep. "_Doctor, here's the good part, at least death means I'll never be scared about dying again._" Roman walked past Jessie's bed. The teen was safely asleep, but her face was squished into a frown. When he moved past her bay, he saw Milena, her bed pulled up so she could sit straight. 

"_Let's get on with living while we can and not play dumb. Death's gonna-_" Milena looked up at Roman. "Crap. Was I singing too loud?"

"You're alright," Roman chuckled, shaking his head. "I heard the call of my people."

"Are you a _Falsettos_ fan?" Milena asked.

"I am an everything fan, hon," Roman scoffed, whisking a hand past his face like he was flipping long hair.

"I'm in the drama club at school," Milena admitted. "If I wasn't so busy with sports, I'd probably audition for the school musical. Then again, I don't think I'll be playing sports for a while, so I might get the chance."

"I say go for it," Roman said. "Musicals are amazing."

"Yeah," Milena muttered, nodding softly. "That song's a bit of a vent song for me right now."

"I'm not a doctor, but I don't think you're in danger anymore," Roman said. He moved to the edge of Milena's bed and leaned his hands against the plastic railing.

"I know," Milena huffed. "But with my parents this close to murder and Jessie..." Milena crossed her arms. "I just can't believe them. They can't even come see me now. They're probably freaking out about me, though. Parents, huh?"

"Yeah, that's pretty normal," Roman sighed, absentmindedly nodding. His Dad would have flipped if Roman was in a car accident. Then again, he probably wouldn't have cared if it was Rem- "Your family really hates the McCallums."

"That's an understatement," Milena grunted.

"I suppose you've got more of a reason now," Roman muttered.

"Hey, it's not Jessie's fault," Milena snapped. "We just didn't see the car coming." Roman looked up at the teen. He cocked his head a bit.

"You don't hate her?" Roman asked. Milena shifted.

”I tolerate her,” Milena muttered. “But that doesn’t mean it’s fun to have her family fighting mine.”

”You seem to do more than tolerate her,” Roman snorted, glancing at Jessie’s bed. “You looked worried when Jessie puked.”

”Well, who wouldn’t be?” Milena snapped.

”Let’s not wake anyone up, Whizzer Frown,” Roman chuckled.

”A grown man insulting a teenager,” Milena snorted. “Is that a new low for you, or is that how you spend your nights?”

”I just...” Roman searched for the right words, waving a hand around. If his creativity meant anything, it needed to work now. “I know sometimes in life, you become close to someone that you wish you didn’t know, for whatever reason. People don’t approve of you or that person is disliked or they’ve done things to you or others... but when it comes to Jessie, I don’t think you should be ashamed. Your parents may not agree, but with time, there could be a great future before ye!”

”Even after I crashed the car?” Milena snapped. Roman stood straighter, removing his hands from the plastic railing. “Her parents were right. It was my fault. I distracted her. I was crying, she tried to comfort me, and she took the eyes off the road. I don’t think anyone will want us to be friends after that, especially not Jessie.” Milena pushed the bed controls. Her bed unfolded, laying her down flat.

”It-“ Roman said.

”It’s late, I’m tired,” Milena grunted, squeezing her eyes shut. “I don’t even know who you are. Leave me alone.” Roman lingered at the edge of the bed for a moment. Then, he shook his head and padded away. He had a blood drive to organize.

* * *

"At the end of the day, all they can Scooby-Dooby-Doo is accept Ms. Lakin's mood swings as they come and keep being patient," Emile sighed. Virgil typed every word into his text to Logan, leaving out the cartoon references. "Patton did a fairly good job, he just spooked her."

"And sent," Virgil muttered, sending the ridiculously long text. He yawned softly, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. He glanced out the window to the dark swamps beyond. "Are you sure about this backroad?"

"You said it yourself, we'll never get through that accident on the highway," Emile sighed. "I've taken this road a few times. It's pretty in the daylight!"

"Uh-huh," Virgil sighed. "You ever get kneed by a patient?"

"I haven't had too many violent patients," Emile admitted.

"Lucky man," Virgil scoffed. "I once had a terrified twelve-year-old chomp down on my wrist. I still got a little scar." Virgil flipped his hood over his head and curled into the space between the car door and the seat. "Wake me up in, like, half an hour, and we can swap spots."

"I've got a playlist of calmer songs I can play," Emile said. "I've got _Here Comes a Thought, Everything Stays, A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes_..."

"I'd rather you have your upbeat songs than fall asleep to a lullaby and crash the car," Virgil mumbled, closing his eyes. His mind hopped down rabbit holes, traveling along strands of thought he could only brush past. He was vaguely aware of the peppy songs coming from the radio. His hoodie was a warm hug wrapped around his arms. His hand rubbed the stitched purple flannel.

_"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, dear Virgil, happy birthday to you!" Mom's giant, muscular arms wrapped around Virgil in a giant bear hug from behind. Her fingers tickled his chin._

_"Mom!" Virgil whined, smiling. He tucked his arms under hers and tried to push her off._

_"Hey, it's not every day my kid turns seven!" Mom laughed. Her hands ruffled his messy brown hair. Virgil smoothed it back down as Mom crouched next to his chair. "I'm sorry we don't have a cake this year, kiddo."_

_"Cake isn't healthy, anyway," Virgil said, shrugging. "I don't want either of us to get some disease from bad store cake."_

_"My little worrywart," Mom chuckled, shaking her head like she always did whenever Virgil amazed her. "I've got some chicken strips, ramen, some soy sauce, and some veggies. So, for your birthday treat, I'm going to make proper ramen!" Mom stood straight, hands on her hips like a superhero._

_"Isn't the ramen we have proper ramen?" Virgil asked._

_"Ours is going to be like ramen you'd find in Japan," Mom declared. She walked around the kitchen table towards the fridge. "I've got a recipe printed out and everything. Head into the living room, you've got your pick on the TV." Virgil hopped off the chair and scurried across the apartment to the carpeted section. He settled down on the matted brown couch and leaned over the armrest to the DVD shelf. Maybe Mom would let him watch one of her horror movies! She had so many cool movies. Virgil reached into the bottom of the shelf and pulled out _The Birds_. This was going to be so cool!_

_Gunshots echoed in the street, muffled beyond the brick walls and murky glass of the apartment. Virgil's gaze drifted out the windows. Mom's rules about gunshots were always to stay inside away from the windows. Did other kids spend their birthdays in gang riddled neighborhoods? Virgil put the movie on the armrest and scurried back into the kitchen. Mom stared at a crumpled piece of paper, muttering under her breath. Her puffy dirty blonde hair cascaded against her dark purple flannel._

_"Can I just cut off the breading?" Mom muttered. Virgil scurried into the kitchen, socks slipping on the tiles. He barreled into Mom and hugged her leg. Mom yelped, jumping a little. "Hey there, stormcloud! Is something wrong?"_

_"I love you, Mom," Virgil muttered. He buried his face into Mom's flannel. It smelled of antiseptic, Green Soap, and ink, the wonderful smells of Mom's tattoo shop. That flannel could stop bullets._

_"I lov-"_

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!

Virgil's body slammed against his seatbelt, burning against the fabric. Emile's neck jutted forward, just caught by his own seatbelt. The headlights shone back into the van, lighting up Virgil and Emile's faces.

"WHAT THE HELL, PICANI?" Virgil shouted, rubbing his sore shoulder and trying to breathe. Emile groaned and looked up.

"Gator," Emile groaned. Virgil followed the glare of the headlights. Sitting in the middle of the gravel road was the biggest alligator Virgil had ever seen. Its dark green scales were littered with scars. The light reflected in its giant round eyes. It stared at the van, not blinking. Its tail slowly swished the gravel behind it. Virgil locked his door.

"Crap, crap, crap," Virgil shouted. "Lock the doors!"

"Virgil, don't panic," Emile said, rubbing his neck.

"I'm not a native Florida dude, I'm from Atlanta, I've never seen a wild alligator before!" Virgil snapped. "It can't be happy with us!"

"Well, he's not asleep," Emile muttered. "He was probably just crossing the road before we showed up. He's not that different from the marsh crocodiles I saw in Pakistan. He'll move when he's good and ready."

"Wait," Virgil huffed, shaking the nerves out of his hands. "You've been to Pakistan?"

"I was in the Army, stationed near the Waziristan region for a time," Emile explained. Virgil blinked, eyes wide, dumbfounded.

"You were in the Army," Virgil repeated. "Emile Picani, lover of every cartoon in existence, who most likely owns a dozen onesies, was in the Army? In Pakistan?"

"And Afghanistan," Emile added. "I saw a few marsh crocodiles in my time there. I'm not as well versed in reptile knowledge as the folks in Amphibia, but I know some things." Virgil leaned against his seat, staring at the ceiling.

"How did I not know that?" Virgil muttered. "Are you pulling my leg?"

"It's not something I joke about," Emile admitted, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "I usually only talk about it when I believe it can help me connect with my patients. They aren't all cartoon fans, after all."

"I-" Virgil stammered. "Ok, I can't get over this. Can I ask you some questions? Is that a problem?"

"That's alright," Emile sighed. He folded his hands in his lap.

"You won't even hurt a fly," Virgil stammered, flipping his hood down. "Why join the Army?"

"I joined out of high school," Emile explained. "Back then, I wasn't quite sure what I wanted to do with my life. All I really liked to do was watch cartoons. There were a lot of army recruiters at my school, so I thought serving would be a good place to start. It's not an uncommon phenomenon. There's been a bit of social psychology devoted to the study of soldiers and why they join the army, and many join not out of patriotic duty, but to find a purpose. Kind of like Hercules in his movie! He didn't train to be a hero to help people, but so he could have a strong identity." Virgil searched his brain for appropriate questions. Roman had organized a Veteran's Day thing for the kids, where they could ask some of the veteran patients currently at the hospital some questions. Virgil tried to remember what questions the kids were allowed to ask.

"What was your job?" he asked, hoping it wasn't offensive.

"Mostly grunt work at first," Emile sighed. "Keeping tents clean, gun maintenance, guard duty. I picked up the language pretty quickly. Eventually, folks looked to me when it came to talking to the locals."

"Not too surprising," Virgil muttered. "You're about as threatening as Kirby."

"Kirby can absorb people! I'd say that's pretty threatening," Emile chuckled. "In a way, I did absorb the ability to speak Pashto from them."

"Are you still in the Army? Like, are you one of those doctors who got the military to pay for their college?"

"Ha! No! I got discharged after a few years. I got plenty of scholarships for my service, though." Emile rested his hands on the wheel. "My squad leader, Sergeant Takeichi, had a gator wrestler for a brother. So, he tried to take on a marsh crocodile. He did a good job, even if he almost lost his hand."

"Were they a good squad? Wow, that sounded like I'm talking about a high school band." 

"It was good, all in all. No one minded when I came out. Sergeant Takeichi had nicknames for us all. Mr. Rooster, Track & Field, Earthquake. I was the Animaniac."

"How long did it take for them to find out about your love of cartoons?"

"About ten minutes." Virgil grinned, holding back an eye roll. Emile leaned back and tucked his hands into his lap again. "I'm the only one left, now." Virgil's grin dropped.

"Oh." Virgil picked at the stitching on his hoodie. "War is hell, huh?"

"Actually, we all survived our time in Pakistan. Oh, there he goes." Virgil looked just in time to see the alligator's tail slip into the murky waters surrounding the gravel road. "See? He was just crossing the road."

"Alright, doc, hop out," Virgil huffed, unbuckling. "My turn to drive." Virgil unlocked his door and jumped out of the van. He and Emile crossed in front of the van, long shadows dancing on the gravel. Virgil crawled into the driver's seat. He unplugged Emile's phone and plugged in his own. The phone light burned Virgil's eyes. It was exactly midnight.

"Happy birthday to me," Virgil muttered, adjusting the side mirrors. "Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday, dear Virgil, happy birthday to me." By the time the van was once again cruising down the gravel road, Emile was slouched against the shotgun door with his eyes closed. Without looking, Virgil hit shuffle on his phone.

"_Hello darkness, my old friend,_" the car radio muttered. Virgil sighed and let the road blur in front of him.

* * *

The observation room door creaked open. Mr. McCallum slowly stuck his face out, like an animal scanning for predators. Patton stood by the desks, fiddling with the spare doctor's coat he'd found. Logan had suggested it- if Patton was going to care for Jessie, he might as well look the part.

"Folks are sleeping, so don't be loud," Nate muttered, leaning beside the door. Mr. McCallum nodded. Mrs. McCallum held his hand as the two slipped out. Mrs. Yakimov pushed the door open fully and left the room with her husband. Both couples looked around the ED, and their eyes settled on their daughters. Milena was wide awake, pulling her bed up.

"Jessie," Mrs. McCallum gasped. The McCallums raced across the ED, hands held tight. Mr. McCallum cupped his daughter's face. Jessie groaned softly and opened her eyes.

"Dad?" Jessie muttered. Mr. McCallum smiled and leaned his forehead against Jessie's. Mrs. McCallum wrapped her arms around her family.

"Milena, are you feeling ok?" Mrs. Yakimov asked, hurrying to her daughter's side.

"I was wondering when they'd let you out," Milena scoffed. "Hey, Mom."

"We're here, sweetie," Mrs. Yakimov declared. She grabbed Milena's hand and squeezed it tight. Joan slipped past Patton into Jessie's bay. As they started explaining Jessie's condition, Patton's gaze drifted up to one of the ED clocks. It was past midnight! It was officially Virgil's birthday! How did he not notice? He stalked around the desks towards where Roman slept. The public services director had finally given in to sleep after donating blood for Jessie's surgery and organizing a blood drive from all the healthy residents of the quarantine. He laid sprawled out on the stretcher underneath the isolated observation room window. His letter jacket laid over him like a blanket, arm tucked under his head.

"How 'bout you shut up, man," Roman grumbled, rolling onto his side.

"Roman," Patton whispered, shaking Roman's shoulder.

"Huh?" Roman groaned, jutting up. His sleepy eyes scanned the room before settling on Patton. He gave the doctor a goofy, half asleep smile. "Hey, Pat."

"It's Virgil's birthday," Patton explained.

"Oh, yeah," Roman yawned. "I guess it is." Roman blinked and suddenly shook his head like a dog. "It's his birthday!"

"Exactly!" Patton chirped. "We need to do something!" Roman rolled off the stretcher, stumbling onto the floor. He jumped up and grabbed Patton's hand. Roman raced down the halls, Patton scrambling to keep pace. He almost got to the quarantined doors when he turned into a half-open laundry room. Patton rubbed the walls until he found the light switch. The laundry room had an older washer and dryer stuffed in the corner. Shelves lined the walls, filled with cleaning supplies, spare blankets, pillows, and a few extra casting materials.

"Ok, you film me, and I'll do the birthday song," Roman said, padding over to the shelves. Patton scrambled for his phone and pulled up his camera. "I finally figured it out. He's going to hate this."

"Three, two, one," Patton said. He pressed record.

"_It's your birthday!_" Roman sang to the tune of Welcome to the Black Parade. "_It's your birthday! And though you're stuck on the road driving, we didn't forget, it's your birthday! It's your birthday! I hope you know that you've made friends here, so I hope you find some happiness!_" Roman stuck a vibrant pose at the end of the song, flinging out his arms. His hands slapped a shelf full of detergent. The bottles tumbled off the shelves with a loud clatter. Roman stood frozen, still smiling.

"Crap," Roman said. Patton put his phone away.

"It's ok!" Patton assured him, hurrying over. "We'll just pick these up, no harm done!"

"Hold on," Roman said, thrusting a hand in front of Patton. He squinted through the shelving unit towards the wall. "I think there's something back here."

"Like what?" Patton asked. He grabbed an armful of bottles and set them on the washer. Roman grabbed the shelving unit. The unit grinded against the floor as Roman pushed it away from the wall. Patton grabbed the other side and helped balance out everything still on the shelf. Roman squeezed into the space between the shelves and the wall.

"Patton, there's a hole back here!" Roman gasped. Patton scurried around the shelving unit and squeezed in beside Roman. Sure enough, there was a hole in the wall with rusted metal climbing upwards. Roman stuck his head into the chute. "I can't see anything. I think this is a laundry chute!" Roman pulled his head out. Dust clung to his hair. Something clicked in Patton's head. He gasped, covering his mouth. "What? Do I have bugs in my hair?"

"I just got an idea," Patton gasped. "You know how we were talking earlier about Jessie McCallum's surgery? All that stuff about things we can't predict, stuff we might need but won't be able to get?" Patton squirmed past Roman and stuck his head into the hole. "I think this is our answer!"

* * *

"I've got the blueprints you asked for," Thomas sighed. His face bounced around Patton's phone, which was propped against a dusty bottle of detergent. Logan and Joan joined Patton and Roman in the laundry room, watching Thomas make his way through the hospital. "If I'm reading them right- and that's a pretty big if here, guys- that chute starts in here..." Thomas stepped into a dark room. He flicked on the lights, the phone going white for a moment.

"Hey, hey!" Roman stammered, hitting the wall. His head was deep into the chute, jacket tied around his waist. "I see light! Thomas! Tommy boy! Thomathy! Tomma-lomma-ding-dong! Thomas the dank engine! Can you hear me?" Thomas moved through the new room- another laundry room, from the looks of it. Metal groaned off-screen.

"Roman?" Thomas called. His voice echoed twice; once through the phone, once down the chute.

"It's us!" Roman cheered. "Hi!" Metal groaned again from floors above. Thomas wrung his hand through his hair.

"I'm on the third floor," Thomas muttered. "This room is pretty dusty, guys. This washer is ancient. I don't even think there's a dryer in here. We have been vastly underusing space on this floor!"

"I don't understand how the CDC missed this," Logan huffed, arms crossed. "This chute is a break in the quarantine."

"It's not on the modern blueprints," Thomas explained, shuffling the rolled-up papers stuck under his arm. "I guess we just forgot about it over time."

"This is perfect," Patton declared, clapping his hands together. "If we need something during Jessie's surgery, we could toss it down the chute and bypass the quarantine!"

"Wait, Patton," Thomas stammered. "The CDC's strict about their protocols. They'd want us to report this chute so they can seal it off."

"Thomas, if we do that, we're denying ourselves the tools we need to help Jessie!" Patton groaned.

"We're playing in the world of probabilities," Logan huffed. "Who knows if we would even require this chute? I don't believe it's worth the risk of the CDC finding out. We could possibly face charges for keeping this from them."

"If it means saving a girl's life, I'll do whatever I can," Patton declared.

"It's a pretty steep drop," Roman muttered, looking back into the chute. "How would we get stuff down without it breaking?"

"Egg drop," Joan said. All eyes turned to the medical director. "What? Like you guys didn't do egg drops in middle school. We put whatever we need in some packaging and drop it down. It'll be fine."

"You can't be agreeing with this," Logan snapped. "This chute is a danger to the whole hospital!"

"The only person with Pinto's so far is Ms. Lakin, and she's double quarantined," Joan huffed.

"Oh, we can get a giant fan up there and have it blow into the chute," Roman chirped. "All the infected dust would just fly back down here!"

"Roman, now's not the time," Logan grunted. He stalked up to Patton. "Patton, I don't understand why you're so insistent on using this chute and risking your career."

"I need to make sure Jessie's gonna be alright," Patton huffed.

"You're risking criminal charges for something you might not even need!" Logan snapped.

"Logan," Thomas said.

"I can't understand why you always do this," Logan grumbled, hands flying in front of him. "You're willing to break hospital regulation at the drop of a hat for the chance to help someone."

"Logan, that's what doctors do!" Patton huffed.

"Doctors also need to have a job to help their patients, which you'll lose eventually if you continue in this fashion," Logan hissed.

"Logan," Thomas said, this time a little harsher.

"You never listen to your own common sense!" Logan shouted.

"Logan, I love you, but can you please stop?" Patton snapped. "I, I hate this conversation."

"Logan!" Thomas shouted. "Logan, look at your coat!" Everyone's gaze drifted to Logan's white coat. Faint red dots covered Logan's sleeves. Patton stopping breathing. Very carefully, Logan peeled his coat off. He let it fall at his feet. A red, scaly rash marked with small dots of blood covered his arms.

* * *

_Seven hours after quarantine_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you remember a while back on my tumblr when I asked you to pick a Side? Yeah.... :)


	4. Surgery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Researching the details of surgery is frusterating. Would an ED have aprotinin in their stores? I don't know, and I don't care. In case there's any confusion, in the third major flashback, Entertainment Row has not been fully established since Roman has not been hired yet (he was the second of the core four to be hired at Sanders).  
There are a few new things included in this chapter that aren't featured in the other chapters, including-  
Police  
Brief mentions of religion  
Coins  
Surgery

_Seven and a half hours after quarantine_

* * *

Patton couldn't look away from the decontamination room. He hadn't moved from the chair Joan had shoved him into and said, like a master to a hyper dog, "Stay." His spare white coat was bunched into his lap. Logan's coat would probably be burned- the CDC was very strict about that sort of stuff. And Logan loved that coat! Patton should be in the room with Logan, standing by him as Joan and the other doctors poked IVs through his wrists. Maybe if Patton hadn't tried to hold Logan and keep him close by, he would have been allowed in. His emotions weren't good for Logan.

_You never listen to your own common sense! _Would that be one of the last conversations Patton and Logan would have? What was Patton supposed to do? How was there nothing he could do for his husband? His fingers wrapped around the sleeve of his coat. His hands trailed down to the coattails. Why couldn't the coat in his lap be his own? That coat was filled with good memories...

_Dr. Patton Foster skipped down the hall, his non-slip white work shoes sticking to the tile. The janitors must have come down that hall because the floor shimmered in the sunlight dancing through the windows. It was a pretty place to have a hospital room- the windows lining the white hall looked over Miami, facing the ocean. If Patton squinted, he could see the glittering blue water in the distance. It was too bad the hall was full of surgical recovery rooms and not in pediatrics- the kids would love trying to spot the sea. Patton had only worked in the pediatric ward for a year and a half by then, but he already loved all the kiddos that passed through his department!_

_Patton's hands traced the wall, rubbing against doors and name tags with little braille dots. He was looking for someone, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember the name. It was the mom to one of the kids Patton cared for, he remembered that. She'd had surgery that morning to fill a hole in her ear. The kid, who broke their arm falling off a jungle gym, hadn't seen their mom since they got to the hospital because she was already in surgery. They were sure to cheer up once Patton found her! If he ever found her._

_Patton's hand passed a name that rang a muffled bell in the back of his head. _Logan Berry. _He'd heard that name recently, but where? He rubbed his chin, tapping his foot against the shiny tile. Oh my goodness, that's where he recognized the name! Patton had visited the ED when the man was wheeled in the previous night. His leg had been in bad shape... he'd heard mutterings of 'amputation' and 'physical therapy' float around the ED. Didn't they say he was a doctor, too? Surely he would appreciate a bit of company! If he didn't have a visitor already, at least. Patton dusted off his coat and knocked on Logan's door._

_"Hello?" a crackly voice asked behind the door. Patton pushed the door open and stepped into the room. The only two lights inside the dim room were the muted TV, currently on VIN3's channel, and the beam of lights that shone over the bed. Pale blue curtains hid the lower half of the patient from view. The rest of Logan Berry laid on the half-flat bed with a messy hair of dark brown, nearly black hair over a pale, expressionless face. The hospital gowns draped over a taut frame. A pair of black Warby-Parkers sat crooked on his nose._

_"Glasses!" Patton gasped._

_"Excuse me?" Logan muttered, blinking slowly._

_"We have the same glasses!" Patton chirped, pulling off his own pair and holding them out towards Logan._

_"Are you my doctor?" Logan sighed. A shaking hand fixed his crooked glasses._

_"Well, no," Patton admitted. "I'm a doctor, but I'm not your doctor. Unless you're secretly seventeen." Patton laughed, slipping his glasses back on._

_"You are a pediatrics doctor," Logan mumbled._

_"Yeah!"_

_"If you are not my doctor, what are you doing in my room?"_

_"I thought you might be lonely!" Patton closed the door and padded deeper into the room. Logan raised an eyebrow._

_"Lonely," he repeated._

_"Yep!" Patton chuckled. "I'm Patton. We talked a bit when they brought you in!" Logan looked back to the TV._

_"I'm afraid the memory of my arrival to Sanders Hospital is blurry, at best," Logan groaned._

_"That's fair," Patton said, shrugging. He glanced behind the half-opened curtain. One of Logan's feet stuck out at the edge of the bed in pale blue patient slippers. His other leg ended halfway down the blanket. The bags under Logan's eyes didn't slip past Patton's attention. There was something in his slightly bloodshot brown eyes that glued Patton to the floor. "Anyway, I can at least keep you company until your family shows up!"_

_"My only known relatives are my foster parents," Logan sighed, glancing at Patton. "I only lived with them for two years. They recently moved to Arizona, the last time we talked."_

_"Oh, foster!" Patton gasped. "I'm Foster! That's my name, I mean. Dr. Patton Foster!" Logan didn't respond. He only stared at the TV, his monitors beeping softly. Patton's giant smile dropped a bit. "I don't think anyone should have to be in the hospital alone."_

_"I'm an adult," Logan huffed. "I do not require a constant presence."_

_"Still, who doesn't need a friend?" Patton chuckled. "I'm sure I can _foster_ a friendship, eh?" Logan groaned softly, a small frown peeking out of his mouth. Patton's smile grew. Even annoyance was better than the dead look on the man's face, right?_

"Patton." Patton turned his head. Joan stood by his chair, one hand fiddling with the beanie in their pocket. Patton scrambled out of the chair.

"How's Logan feeling?" Patton asked.

"Frustrated, to be sure," Joan huffed. "We've started him on some of the same medications as Ms. Lakin, who's currently asleep. At least now Logan'll finally get some sleep, right?" Patton forced a smile. Joan sighed and padded around Patton. They pulled a chair out from behind the desks and sat beside Patton.

"Patton, listen," Joan sighed. "I want to take you off Jessie McCallum's appendectomy." Patton's fingers dug into his coat. "You're going to be focused on Logan, which is ok. But I don't think you participating in surgery with your mindset is what's best for Jessie."

"Joan, I get it, but," Patton stammered. "I don't want to sit here and do nothing. If, if I can't help Logan, I need to help someone."

"Look at your hands," Joan grunted. "You're more likely to hurt Jessie during the surgery than help her." Patton didn't need to look. He knew how much his hands shook.

"Let me supervise," Patton begged. "I can still help in other ways. I'm one of the few people who knows about the, you know, thing."

"Come on, Patton," Joan sighed. "You'd be agreeing with me if I was talking to anyone else in your position." Patton untied the gray cardigan around his shoulders. He slipped the cardigan over the goosebumps forming on his arms.

"I know," Patton sighed. "Just... please. Let me do something. Anything." Joan sighed, closing their eyes. They rubbed the bridge of their nose.

"I'm giving people the authority to kick you off the case if you're too focused on Logan," Joan huffed. "But if all you do is supervise..."

"Thank you," Patton sighed, the tension in his shoulders dropping. "I promise, I'll keep my hands clean."

"This chute situation is far from 'keeping your hands clean,'" Joan muttered.

"Roman's talking to Thomas and getting everything set up," Patton explained, standing up. "Oh, shoot, he asked me to look up egg drop techniques. I forgot."

"Middle school science to the rescue," Joan said. "If the CDC finds out, we could all lose our medical licenses."

"If it saves a girl's life, I'll do anything," Patton huffed, straightening up. "Will I be able to visit Logan soon?"

"In a bit," Joan explained. "Don't make me regret keeping you on this surgery."

"You won't, I promise," Patton declared. He took his coat and padded across the ED towards the small office where Roman and Thomas were planning everything out. They would want an update on Logan's condition, after all. Virgil would too- how would the anxious nurse react to Logan? Maybe Patton should wait to tell him about Logan. If he didn't already know, at least.

* * *

Emile was the loudest sleeper Virgil had ever met, and he'd seen plenty of patients snoring their heads off. Emile's snores sounded like a combination of a pig and a backfiring pickup truck. He had the passenger's seat leaning back and his arms wrapped around him. Still, a bit of drool dripped out of his open mouth and his snoring was almost louder than the banging drums of Fall Out Boy. In Emile's defense, Virgil didn't have his music playing too loud- he didn't want to wake Emile or miss something important. Still, the snoring was reaching ridiculous levels.

Virgil was used to the sick feeling of anxiety squirming inside of him. He'd lived with it for years, after all. But that didn't mean it wasn't tough sometimes. His fingers dug into the steering wheel and kept his eyes glued to the dark road in front of him. It was just him and the open road. His headlights shined against the road signs. Virgil tried to focus on that light and stay grounded. It wasn't working. How could it, when the longer Virgil took to get to Atlanta, the more likely people would die? Would the woman already sick even survive the night? Could Virgil get back to the hospital in time to help her?

He was fairly certain he'd passed the border between Florida and Georgia. He wasn't sure how far he had to go- he'd driven to his hometown quite a few times, but he'd lost track of the familiar landmarks. He could barely see anything outside of the road. He could, however, see the stars. Even with the glare of the highway, they twinkled above the van in a dance without a story. Logan had told Virgil some of the constellation names, but Virgil couldn't pick any out. His eyes glanced up at the pinpricks of light occasionally, trying to catch the names in the sky. There was one he remembered clearly with its belt of three stars and its dramatic pose- Orion.

_"Do you know where I learned about Orion, stormcloud?" Mom asked. Virgil's tiny hand rested on the new tattoo on his mom's shoulder, just visible under her thin shirt. The constellation Orion pointed its arrow towards Mom's arm. "There's this book I loved to read when I was in college. It was called the Aeneid. Do you know who wrote it?"_

_"Who?" Virgil asked. Mom turned around and grabbed Virgil. She placed the toddler into her lap and smiled._

_"His name was Virgil," Mom chuckled._

Lights burned into Virgil's eyes. He groaned, squinting into his side mirrors. Blue and red lights flashed behind him. Over Emile's snoring and his music, sirens screamed down the highway. Crap, crap, crap. Virgil was getting pulled over. Where was he supposed to pull over? Should he wait till he got to a gas station? He was pretty sure he was allowed to do that, but what if the cop thought he was trying to escape? Virgil pressed against the brake and slowly turned the van into the shoulder of the highway, praying he wouldn't get slammed into by an impatient minivan. The cop car pulled into the shoulder behind him.

"Emile," Virgil grunted, turning off his music. "Emile, wake up. Picani!" Emile's eyes pulled open, a soft groan replacing the snoring. Virgil put the car into Park.

"What's going on now?" Emile muttered, grabbing his glasses from the passenger door. Footsteps trudged through the dirt. Virgil kept his hands on the wheel and tried not to look suspicious. He wasn't doing anything wrong, so why was he panicking? Right, anxiety. The answer to most of Virgil's issues. Virgil rolled down his window as the cop approached him. They wore a dark tan outfit with a badge on their chest that caught the headlights. Emile was wide awake now.

"License and registration, please," the officer asked.

"Alright," Virgil stammered. "My, uh, wallet's in the car door." He slowly took one hand off the wheel and grabbed his wallet from the cup holder in the door. He opened it and pulled out his license. "I think the registration's somewhere in the glove compartment? Emile, can-"

"Got it," Emile said, opening the compartment in front of him. "Do you how do, officer?" The officer made a face- the usual face a stranger made when Emile greeted them- and took Virgil's license.

"Does this van belong to you, Mr. Lawson?" the officer asked. Emile passed over some forms, which Virgil handed to the officer as well.

"No, it's a hospital van," Virgil explained. "I'm the head of nursing at Sanders Hospital. This is Dr. Emile Picani, he works there too."

"You've got Florida license plates," the officer noted. "What're you doing in Georgia?"

"We were on the news," Virgil snapped. "We've got a deadly infectious disease in our ED. We're driving to Georgia to get something to help the people in the quarantine."

"Do you realize that you were speeding?" the officer asked. "You were fifteen miles over the limit on this road. This is a highway, you're lucky you didn't hit someone."

"I-" Virgil snapped. He gritted his teeth. Yelling at cops was always a no-no. "I'm sorry. I didn't know I was speeding. I'm trying to save my friends."

"Do you have a hospital ID?" the officer asked. Virgil handed the officer his wallet. The officer shuffled through the leather and pulled out Virgil's official ID. "I'm going to confirm your story. Stay in the car and don't drive off." The officer gave Virgil his wallet back and padded back to their car, license, ID, and registration in hand. Virgil pressed his palms against his eyes and finally breathed.

"We don't have time for this," Virgil snapped. "We can't afford stops!"

"The officer is just doing their job," Emile sighed. "I'm surprised, Virgil. You're usually the safest driver I know."

"I thought I was under," Virgil grumbled. "I- I guess I was too focused on the ED? I don't know."

"Remember what we talked about earlier," Emile advised. "All you can do is focus on the situation you can control. In this case, that's staying under the speed limit."

"I remember," Virgil grumbled. He glanced out the window. The car's siren was off and the officer sat inside, talking on a little radio. Cars zoomed past the highway shoulder, bright yellow headlights blinding Virgil for a few moments. He had a brief flashback to his junior year of high school when he and his friend got pulled over for speeding and the cops dragged both of them home. It was almost right that the only other time Virgil got pulled over was going back home.

_I'm Not Okay (I Promise) _blared through the car. Virgil jumped, jarred out of his daydream. His phone buzzed in the compartment under the radio. Thomas was calling him. Virgil put the call on speaker.

"We're here, Thomas," Virgil said, feeling a bit like he had when the cops dragged him home.

"So I just got a call from the Georgia State Patrol asking me if you and Emile were allowed to use the hospital van," Thomas sighed. "You got pulled over?"

"Yeah, apparently I was speeding," Virgil admitted, putting his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

"Ok, you're paying for that ticket," Thomas huffed. "But this might be a blessing in disguise."

"What do you mean?" Emile asked.

"I transferred the call to the hospital lawyers," Thomas explained. "You're still a few hours from Atlanta under normal driving conditions, but... you might be getting a state patrol escort."

"You're kidding," Virgil said.

"I'm not sure about all the legal lingo," Thomas said. "But if you two join Officer Davis at her car- that's the officer who pulled you over- she'll be able to shave some time off the trip. With the CDC vouching for you two, it shouldn't be too hard."

"We're just leaving the van?" Virgil stammered. "What if someone steals it?"

"We can always arrange a tow," Emile suggested.

"When Officer Davis comes back, she'll tell you the final decision and such," Thomas explained. "I know you're worried about Logan, Virge, but you can't be speeding."

"Logan?" Virgil stammered. His heart dropped. "What about Logan?"

"Oh..." Thomas groaned. "You don't know. Emile, I texted you about it, did the texts not go through?"

"Oh!" Emile chuckled awkwardly. "I'm afraid I muted my phone while I slept. Sorry, Thomas."

"Whatever, back to Logan," Virgil stuttered. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Virgil," Thomas sighed. "Logan's sick."

* * *

_"Give me an L!" Patton cheered, pumping a fist in the air. "Give me an O! Give me a G, A, Nnnnever gonna give you up, never gonna let you down-"  
_

_"Actually I might need to be let down now," Logan grunted, leaning into the sturdy metal railing. Talyn held his left arm and helped Logan sit down on the dulled wooden floor of the hospital rehabilitation gym. Physical therapists stood around the room, helping their patients go through exercises. A muscular man helped someone with a bald head lift a small weight with a prosthetic arm. The other metal railings were occupied by two other leg amputees of varying severity._

_"That was great, Logan!" Talyn cheered, sitting beside Logan. "You've gotten a lot better at shifting your weight."_

_"A partial weight shift is not a full weight shift, however," Logan huffed. He rubbed his right leg above where the hospital issued prosetic sat as Patton sat criss-cross next to him._

_"Progress after an injury is always an improvement!" Patton declared. "You said that yourself!"_

_"When was that?" Logan muttered._

_"You were half-asleep by then, so who knows," Patton said, shrugging._

_"Don't you have children to take care of, Dr. Foster?" Logan asked._

_"This is my lunch break!" Patton chirped. He leaned back and grabbed a paper bag sitting against the wall._

_"Has that been there since you arrived?" Logan asked as Patton pulled out the sandwich he'd made that morning._

_"That may be the end of our session today," Talyn sighed, glancing at the clock above the thick metal doors of the gym. "Ready to head back to your room?"_

_"We still have a quarter of an hour before you need to prepare for your next patient," Logan huffed. "I would like to continue working."_

_"How do you know when my next session is?" Talyn asked._

_"I've memorized your schedule," Logan sighed. "I want to attempt a complete step forward."_

_"We're still working our way up to that," Talyn stammered. "That's like, half a dozen steps away."_

_"Even if I fail, I want to attempt it," Logan huffed._

_"I'm sure you can do it!" Patton cheered._

_"If you're sure," Talyn muttered. They stood up and helped prop Logan back between the metal railings. Both hands gripped either railing. "Alright, try taking the step with you-WOAH!" Logan hadn't bothered waiting for Talyn to finish. His sound leg stepped forward. His prosthetic gave way under him. Logan's face flew forward, hands slipping on the railing. Patton dove forward. His arms wrapped under Logan's arms. Patton propped Logan up in a tight bear hug. Talyn scurried over and took one of Logan's arms. Both of them helped Logan sit back down._

_"Are you ok?" Patton asked._

_"I am fine," Logan sighed. "The assistance was appreciated, Dr. Foster. It seems your presence here was important after all."_

_"You can call me Patton, you know," Patton chuckled, smiling. "We're friends, after all!" Logan stared at Patton with an odd gaze. Patton pursed his lips and glanced away._

_"I haven't had many people claim that," Logan muttered. Now it was Patton's turn to give Logan an odd gaze._

_"Alright, I think it's time to head back to your room," Talyn muttered. "That's enough for today."_

"What about that laparo-surgery option?" Mr. McCallum asked. Patton snapped back to reality. He and Joan stood in front of Bay 11 where the McCallums stood around their sleeping daughter. Roman sat behind Patton at the desks, flipping through a magazine. Considering he was important in the emergency supply retrieval process, he was hopefully listening in.

"A laparoscopic appendectomy does have a shorter recovery time," Joan sighed. "But it's not something we can do under the quarantine. It requires materials we don't possess in the Emergency Department. An open appendectomy is the best option."

"She'll take around a month to fully recover," Patton added. "Until then, she'll have to take a break from sports."

"She's more than welcome to watch Milena compete, though," Mr. Yakimov muttered in Bay 10. He and his wife sat beside their daughter, scrolling through their phones.

"Dad, not now," Milena groaned.

"Do you have everything you need for her?" Mrs. McCallum asked.

"The blood drive organized by Mr. Prince has gotten quite a bit of usable blood for the surgery," Patton said, waving his hand towards Roman.

"But is it enough?" Mrs. McCallum asked again.

"I promise, it'll be enough," Patton assured her. Would it be so bad to tell the McCallums about the chute? Would they say anything to the CDC just outside the ED? Mr. McCallum folded his hands and groaned.

"We wouldn't even be in this situation if Milena Yakimov hadn't distracted Jessie," Mr. McCallum grumbled.

"Passengers can't control what the driver does," Mrs. Yakimov muttered behind the curtain.

"If you have something you wanna say, just say it," Mr. McCallum snapped.

"Hey, you know the deal," Joan snapped. "No fighting, any of you."

"All I'm saying is you shouldn't blame our daughter for something out of her control," Mrs. Yakimov huffed.

"Jessie might have seen the other car if your daughter wasn't with her," Mr. McCallum hissed.

"Why don't you ask Milena?" Roman piped in. The family's eyes turned towards Roman. Patton glanced into Bay 10 and saw Milena's eyes widen.

"Who are you?" Mr. Yakimov asked.

"Roman Prince, at your service," Roman chirped, slipping out of his chair. "I was just wondering why you hadn't asked Milena here what happened. You're all talking about who's to blame, after all. Have you asked the people who were in the accident? Jessie here isn't in a position to talk, but if you're wondering what happened, why not ask Milena?" Milena looked like a dog trapped in a corner, with wide eyes and bared teeth.

"_Singing to myself_," Patton mumbled. "_Cause I'm not uncomfortable at all_."

"The man has a point," Mrs. McCallum sighed. The Yakimovs turned to Milena.

"Milena," Mr. Yakimov asked. He rested a hand against his daughter's hand. "What happened in the car? Why did Jessie crash?"

"The dude hit us," Milena grumbled. "You know that."

"You'll have to talk to us soon, hon," Mrs. Yakimov sighed. "Was she texting?"

"God, Mom!" Milena groaned, spit flying from her mouth. "Stop thinking everything is Jessie's fault! We crashed because of your stupid fighting!" Nurses glanced towards Bay 10.

"Milena, calm down please," Mr. Yakimov said.

"Why should I?" Milena growled. "You never do when it comes to the McCallums. I don't even know why you're fighting them, there's no point! I just want to be friends with Jessie without going around your backs!"

"I don't think that was the right thing to do, Roman," Patton whispered behind his back. Across the room, Nate watched the Yakimovs, eyes glued to them behind his glasses.

"You're friends with Jessie?" Mr. McCallum asked, pushing the curtain separating Bays 10 and 11 from one another.

"Yes!" Milena groaned. "Jessie decided not to tell you because you'd all freak out! The reason we crashed was because I was crying. I was stressed out about your stupid fighting and Jessie tried to comfort me, and because of that we drove through the intersection and crashed. Are you happy now? You can blame me for the crash."

"I think this is our cue to leave," Joan muttered, tugging on Patton's sleeve as silence wrapped around the two families. Whispers whipped around them as the three friends scurried away. Nate lowered his glasses and glanced at them as they passed.

"Why'd you do that, Roman?" Patton asked, stopping close to the decontamination chamber.

"I got to talk to Milena earlier," Roman sighed. "They would just keep fighting unless she told them what happened."

"You should know better than to force someone to talk about something they don't want to talk about," Patton huffed. "You may have forced Milena into a conversation she wasn't ready to have."

"You do have a point," Roman admitted, rubbing the back of his neck and grinning awkwardly. "At least now they have a chance to work through their fighting, right?"

"Come on," Joan sighed, turning. "Let's check in with Thomas on the chute situation."

"Right, right," Roman muttered, nodding vigorously. He followed Joan around the decontamination chamber.

"I'll, uh, be with you soon," Patton said, staring at the chamber. "I need to do something." Patton pushed his way into the decontamination chamber. He slipped the biohazard suit over him, his breath fogging up the front mask. He didn't have a problem getting his gloves on this time. He slipped his feet into the big bulky boots and smoothed down the lumps where his cardigan showed through the suit. He pushed open the door into the isolated observation room.

Ms. Lakin was fast asleep, fresh bandages wrapped around her arms. Her monitors beeped softly, everything as even as they could possibly be in the current situation. Logan paced past the window, dragging his own monitors alongside him. A hospital gown replaced his tie and polo. Bandages sprinkled with red dots covered his forearms and parts of his chest. His sound leg had a blue slip resistant slipper on it. Patton plastered a smile onto his face.

"Hi, Lo-lo," Patton chirped, closing the door. Logan looked up, pausing his pacing. A bit of sweat collected where his glasses rested on his nose.

"As I'm now suffering from Pinto's, I find it appropriate to give you a warning before we begin talking," Logan sighed. "I'm... more hostile than average."

"Does walking help?" Patton asked, padding over to his husband.

"While it may be futile, the exercise makes my increased heart rate feel natural," Logan admitted. "Could you grab my phone? I've begun recording some of my symptoms to help further the study of Pinto's. I've noticed both an increase in energy and a sudden hunger that will be important to mention." Logan's phone rested on the second bed set up near Ms. Lakin with a dark blue galaxy cover. Patton grabbed the phone, hoping it wouldn't slip through his bulky gloves, and handed it to Logan.

"Do you need some food?" Patton asked.

"Possibly," Logan muttered, furiously typing on his phone. "I'm forming a hypothesis that this particular symptom of the disease may be linked to an overactive thyroid gland."

"So you've got butterflies in your throat?" Patton chuckled. "Get it, cause the thyroid gland's shaped like a butterfly?"

"Patton, jokes are the last thing I need right now," Logan snapped, brow furrowing. The doctor sighed and rubbed the sweat from under his glasses. He grabbed his monitors and stumbled back to his bed. He plopped down and pulled his legs onto the bed. Patton followed him and sat at the foot of the bed.

"Are you nervous?" Patton asked.

"Pinto's has metaphorically short-circuited my parasympathetic nervous system," Logan huffed.

"It's ok if it's not all from the Pinto's," Patton sighed. The TARDIS arrival sound whooshed through the room. Logan's phone buzzed in his hands. The caller ID read 'Virgil'. Logan and Patton shared a glance. Logan accepted the call and put it on speaker.

"Dr. Logan Berry speaking," Logan said. A long string of curse words stabbed through the phone. Patton heard a few soft mutters and loud static as the phone on the other end of the call was adjusted.

"Hi, Logan," Emile's voice sighed.

"Is something happening?" Logan asked.

"Well, we just heard about your condition," Emile admitted. "Virgil wanted to call. Virgil, remember to breathe."

"_You_ remember to breathe!" Virgil hissed, his voice muffled through the phone. "Give me my phone back."

"Virgil wants to talk now," Emile sighed. After a few moments of shuffling-

"Logan, are you ok?" Virgil stammered. "How far has the Pinto's progressed?"

"I did not notice the disease until the pinprick bleeding began," Logan said, fixing his glasses. "I am being closely monitored by those stuck in the ED with me and am-"

"Listen, we're getting a police escort to Atlanta," Virgil huffed. "Don't ask why. We're cutting our travel time down, just, just hold on, ok?"

"Hey, kiddo," Patton interrupted. "I'm here too. Logan's getting the _berry_ best treatment. We'll keep him safe." Logan groaned softly, glaring at Patton.

"No one else is sick, right?" Virgil grunted. "Like, no one else has Pinto's?"

"I am the only one who has developed the disease, save for Mr. Rodrigues and Ms. Lakin," Logan explained.

"Ok, ok," Virgil stuttered, taking deep breaths. "If you've started bleeding, are your emotions all out-of-whack too, Logan?"

"I believe there is a difference between my current mood and my average," Logan admitted. "In a way, it's only right I'm the one to get this disease out of everyone in the Emergency Department at the moment. As the logical head amongst a sea of panicked patients and emotional doctors, I am the best equipped to figuratively keep Pinto's in check."

"It's still not a good thing, Logan!" Virgil snapped. "Patton, he better rest, you make him rest. The same goes for you. You need to sleep."

"I'll catch a few winks once Jessie's appendectomy is done," Patton said.

"You're going to operate?!" Virgil hissed. "I'm calling Joan, that's not going down."

"Virgil, let me talk to them," Emile huffed.

"What, Emile, let-" Virgil stammered. Their voices mixed together in a noisy blend of grunts and hushed arguing.

"Children," Logan grumbled, rubbing the sweat off his forehead.

"Squirrel!" Emile shouted.

"What does that- Emile!" Virgil hissed as the phone fumbled again.

"Ok," Emile huffed. "There we are. The old _Up_ maneuver. We'll have to let you go, but Virgil has a point. Try to get some rest. We'll be back soon!" The call ended and the phone went silent. For a moment, the couple sat in silence.

"I hope Virgil's not panicking," Patton sighed.

"He clearly was," Logan huffed.

"At least someone's thinking of you," a voice mumbled. Patton looked to his left. Ms. Lakin was awake. Her head rested on her pillow looking at Patton and Logan. Her heart rate was at 140 bpm. "Did I get you sick, Dr. Berry?"

"At some point, I was exposed to Pinto's," Logan admitted.

"It's not your fault though," Patton assured her, sliding off Logan's bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Scared," Ms. Lakin admitted, glancing at her monitors. "Is my heart really beating that fast? Funny. I don't feel it. I wonder if this is how my sister... oh what am I doing?" Ms. Lakin shook her head, her hair stuck to her pillow. "I've been mentioning all these family members, uncles and sisters and aunts... I don't have any of that."

"What do you mean?" Patton asked. He stood by Ms. Lakin's bedside, his fingers sticking inside his gloves.

"I grew up in foster care," Ms. Lakin chuckled- a watery sound. "I never met my family. Maybe I do have uncles and sisters and aunts, but I've never met them. I was abandoned."

"But then what were all those stories you mentioned?" Patton asked, cocking his head like a dog.

"I made them up!" Ms. Lakin laughed. "It's what I do. My therapist said it's an unhealthy coping mechanism- and he's the one person I'm not lying about."

"Perhaps a call to one of our psychiatric doctors would help you," Logan noted.

"I've done nothing good for this place," Ms. Lakin scoffed softly. "I got you sick. You're all stuck in here because of me. I-I'm going to die without doing anything good with my life."

"Mr. Rodrigues would have-" Logan said.

"Not right now, Lo," Patton whispered.

"Yes, right now," Logan snapped. He stumbled off the bed, monitors spiking slightly. "What Ms. Lakin needs is logical thinking, not more emotional... whish-wash." It was ok, Logan was just being affected by Pinto's, he didn't mean it. He stumbled to Ms. Lakin's bed and supported himself against the mattress. "Mr. Rodrigues would have brought the disease into the Emergency Department whether or not he was driving you. If anyone is at fault, it is him for not reporting his symptoms to a medical facility before his death. While I won't get into an argument on the definition of morality, I am certain you have done something that can be considered good in your lifetime. Have you ever said thank you to someone? Have you praised someone for an accomplishment? Have you ever made anyone laugh? Wouldn't those things be considered 'good?'"

"I..." Ms. Lakin sighed. "I think so."

"You are not to blame for this situation," Logan assured her. "This has been a string of events uncontrollable by anyone here."

"No one's going to remember me," Ms. Lakin muttered. "I don't have friends or family, I'm going to die alone."

"We'll remember you!" Patton assured her, eyes darting to the slowly rising heart rate and blood pressure displayed on the monitors. "But you won't die, I promise."

"Moping like a child will not improve anything, Ms. Lakin," Logan huffed. "Patton, get me a chair." Patton scrambled around the beds. There was a metal chair sitting by Mr. Rodrigues' covered body. Patton lifted the chair over his head and gently set it beside Logan. Logan sighed and sank into the chair with one hand resting on the bed.

"Are you religious, Ms. Lakin?" Logan asked. Patton did a double-take. Out of all of the questions Logan could have asked, Patton wasn't expecting that one.

"I, I'm Christian," Ms. Lakin stammered.

"Then you believe that God is watching over you," Logan muttered. "He is someone that can remember you, right?"

"R-right," Ms. Lakin mumbled. "Right." Ms. Lakin's hand moved just enough to touch Logan's hand. To Patton's surprise, Logan adjusted his hand so it rested on top of Ms. Lakin's.

"You are scared," Logan noted. Ms. Lakin squeezed her eyes shut. A few tears sneaked under her eyelids. "Tell me, what are your interests? What do you like?"

"Uh," Ms. Lakin gasped. "I like to collect coins." Her heart continued to grow, her breathing growing quicker. Patton glanced towards the door. Doctors scurried into the decontamination chamber and started slipping on the suits.

"Alright," Logan muttered. "All you need to do is listen to my voice. If you wish me to stop, I will." Ms. Lakin shifted her hand, so her palm touched Logan's. The sick doctor took a deep breath and said "Coins have been used as a form of currency for centuries. The Romans had coins made of silver and gold, and for its first century, so did Americans, alongside copper. Originally, the U.S Constitution only accepted coins and not paper money, but Congress approved paper money in 1862. Many of our country's coins were inspired by Spain and their 'pieces-of-eight'." Ms. Lakin's hand shook under Logan's, and the doctor tightened his grip. "A penny is not a real measurement of money. The amount of money a penny represents is 1/100ths of a dollar, which is actually called a cent. The word penny was a European term, but not an official American term." The shaking in Ms. Lakin's hand moved up her arm and through the rest of her body. The other doctors were still getting their suits on. Patton scurried to Ms. Lakin's IVs. There had to be something Patton could give her! Her heart was overworking itself, maybe she needed more beta-blockers? But she was already on beta-blockers, just like Logan! Maybe ACE inhibitors?

"The act of counterfeiting coins was once punishable by death," Logan muttered with gritted teeth. "Abraham Lincoln's face was added to the penny for his 100th birthday, followed by the Lincoln Memorial to celebrate his 150th birthday." The spiking heart rate dancing on Ms. Lakin's screen went flat. Ms. Lakin went limp. Patton's own heart rate spiked, but not just because of the flat line climbing across the screen. There were tears collecting at the rim of Logan's glasses, even though his face and expression remained flat.

"Logan, get back!" Patton shouted, scurrying across the room to the defibrillator on the wall. Patton pulled the machine out of its case as the other doctors finally entered the room. Logan stood up, pushing his chair into his bed. He stumbled onto his bed, his arms pulling his IVs and monitors along. The other doctors swarmed Ms. Lakin. They moved her hospital gown and wiped down the skin not wrapped by bandages. Patton scurried back to Ms. Lakin, the defibrillator in his hands.

"We've got this," one of the doctors said, taking the defibrillator from Patton's arms. Maybe that was for the best, considering his hands were shaking like an old man with Parkinson's. Patton folded his arms across his chest and lurked along the edge of the group, making his way to Logan's bed. One doctor charged up the little defibrillator while another pressed the paddles against Ms. Lakin's chest.

"Clear!" they shouted. Ms. Lakin jutted up and plopped back onto her bed. Patton squirmed behind the doctors and sat beside Logan.

"Are you ok?" he whispered as the doctors charged up the defibrillator again. Logan's fingers rubbed under his eyes. A few tears caught his fingertips and glinted in the yellow light.

"Fascinating," Logan muttered as the doctor shouted, "Clear!"

"What is?" Patton asked. Ms. Lakin's body jutted up again, but the bouncy lines on her monitor stayed flat.

"I've learned to maintain a calm reaction to dying patients over my career," Logan sighed. "It seems this disease has 'broken my streak,' as it were." A few more tears slipped out of Logan's eyes. Even as Patton's heart ached when the doctor shouted "Clear!" for the third time, a small part of him managed a smile. Even with someone dying in front of him, Logan still tried to face things with a logical mind.

* * *

Virgil usually tolerated Atlanta traffic. He tended to avoid it when he was traveling around the city, opting for other forms of public transport, but going in and out was usually a long experience. The long highways leading towards the tall skyscrapers blinked with car lights, owned by sleep-deprived people who just want to check into their hotel already. Now, as the inner city traffic huddled on the streets between Virgil and the CDC, for once, he didn't have to worry about it. The patrol car he'd gotten a ride in buzzed through the traffic, parting the cars like a large chunk of food pushed through a thin rubber pipe. That didn't calm his nerves, however. While Officer Davis drove the car, Virgil sat in the front seat with his GPS pulled up.

"Turn left at this next street," Virgil directed over the screech of Officer Davis' siren. "We're almost there." Buildings Virgil had seen hundreds of times before scrolled past them, their nostalgia reaching for him but just missing the speedy car.

"Goodness," Emile groaned, leaning against the door. He'd been shoved into the back seat behind the mesh plates like a criminal. "It's a good thing I'm not Shaggy Rogers, or there would be a lot of food coming up my throat right now."

"You wouldn't be the first man to vomit in my car, doctor," Officer Davis scoffed. "I won't shame you for it. Hold on." Officer Davis' car spun left, throwing Virgil to the right. Emile groaned as cars parted around them. "How much farther, Nurse Lawson?"

"Keep heading straight and it'll be on the left," Virgil said. How much of his anxiety was showing? Had he gotten enough of his nerves out in the car? All he could think of was Logan curled up in the hospital with a heart attack, his vitals skyrocketing before going flat- no! Virgil couldn't think of that. He was so close. Emile vomited behind him, and Virgil tried to ignore the splatter.

"D'oh," Emile groaned. "Sorry, Officer Davis. I usually don't get carsick."

"Like I said, you're not the first," Officer Davis huffed. "That it up there, folks?" She pointed towards a tall curving metal building, illuminated by black lamps sprinkled around the swooping paths. The guts of the facility reflected outside, employees padding down the warmly lit halls. The trees that gave the facility an air of natural life were tall, ominous shadows in the early morning darkness. As they got closer, Virgil spotted the blue CDC sign with its trademark white bird.

"We're here," he gasped. The patrol car slowed to a stop at the curb, just a building away from the CDC. Virgil scrambled out of the car.

"Thank you, Officer Davis," Emile groaned as Virgil scrambled to his door. "And thank the Georgia State Patrol for us!" Virgil threw open Emile's door, and the therapist tumbled out.

"You go save your friends," Officer Davis said with a nod. The two men threw the doors shut. Officer Davis' patrol car slowly pulled away from the curb and mingled into the lazy traffic driving past, siren off. Virgil grabbed Emile's hand and pulled him along. The therapist yelped, almost tripping over his own feet. Virgil ignored the curving stone paths that led to the main doors. He ran through the grass, his hoodie flapping behind him. Emile pulled his hand away from Virgil's and matched his pace. In fact, Emile ran faster than Virgil with his back straight and clenched arms swinging back and forth. A soldier's run, through and through.

Virgil nearly ran into the CDC's glass doors. Emile pulled one open and held it for Virgil. The two scurried into the lobby. Tan cushioned chairs sat in a circle around tables sprinkled around the lobby. Two long dark wooden desks sat beside the wall with two skinny college students manning them, typing away at computers. Two hallways snaked out behind them. Security guards manned metal detectors at the doors. They had been softly chatting to one another before Virgil scrambled through the door. Now they jumped to attention.

"Something wrong?" one of the guards asked as Virgil scrambled to a stop. Oh yeah. A panicked run into a government building was not a good first impression. Emile took out his driver's license and showed it to the guard.

"Dr. Emile Picani and Virgil Lawson, from Sanders Hospital in Miami," Emile said. "Our contact is Dr. Rose Cleveland. We've been sent to collect the Pinto's Endrocrine Dysfunction Disease medication." The guard took Emile's license. Virgil clenched his fists to his sides and took deep breaths. Breathe for four, hold for seven, out for eight. The students at the desk watched the scene unfold, trying and failing not to look nosey. The other guard pulled out their walkie talkie and moved to the side, mumbling into it. Virgil scrambled for his wallet and took out his license, handing it over. The first guard examined the two licenses, glancing at the two men.

"Right," the second guard huffed, jogging back to the metal detectors. "Dr. Cleveland's vouched for them. Put your stuff into the bins by the side of the machine and pass through." Virgil plopped his wallet and phone into a bin resting on a metal table and handed it to the first guard. Emile put his notepad, pen, phone, and wallet into a separate bin. They passed through the metal detector in single file, collecting their stuff after it passed through the small x-ray machine next to the detectors. Virgil's foot tapped against the tiled floor. The second guard listened to someone on their walkie-talkie.

"There is a security guard coming down to bring you to the lab where Dr. Cleveland will meet you," the second guard explained. "He'll be here in a minute."

"We really don't have time for this," Virgil grumbled, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Every minute he wasted was another minute lost to save Logan. He had half a mind to run upstairs to the labs himself. Then again, he might get shot. Emile padded over to the desks and grabbed two visitor's badges. Virgil pinned his badge on his hoodie.

It seemed to take forever for the third security guard to arrive. As soon as he appeared in one of the hallways behind the desks, Virgil scurried over to him. The guard didn't say anything- he simply turned back around and trudged down the hall. Virgil and Emile kept on his toes. Walking down the off-white CDC halls was like walking in school halls on summer vacation- empty and almost wrong. The group was alone as they stomped across the CDC headquarters with only the sound of their footsteps to accompany them. The elevators were in the heart of the building, standing side by side. There was already an elevator on the first floor. Virgil, Emile, and the guard boarded, and the guard pressed the button for floor 3. Virgil's fingers dug deeper into his pockets as the elevator climbed up.

The elevator doors opened, and Virgil hurried out of the elevator. He really should have looked both ways before exiting the elevator. He slammed into something that yelped when he hit it. Virgil's feet scrambled for stability. He stumbled backward and fell into Emile. There was someone stumbling in front of them wearing a white doctor's coat and a dark flowered shirt underneath. They had an afro of black hair and swirling tattoos sneaking under their sleeves. They carried a white case in their arms, which was dangerously close to falling. Warning sirens went off in Virgil's head.

"Crap, let me-" Virgil stammered, scrambling up. He grabbed the case and helped steady the doctor. "God, sorry, I didn't see you." The doctor let out a long sigh and adjusted the case in their hands. They made eye contact with Virgil and a flicker of recognization passed over their face.

"Virgil Lawson?" they asked. Virgil's shoulders stiffened.

"How did you-" he stammered.

"Dr. Sanders described you to me when we were arranging things," the doctor sighed, patting their giant afro. "I was just coming to meet you. I'm Dr. Cleveland. I'd shake your hand, but I'm a bit occupied. And you must be Dr. Picani, nice to meet you."

"Do you how do?" Emile said, waving.

"Is that it?" Virgil asked, pointing to the case in Dr. Cleveland's hands. A bit of hope sprang in Virgil's chest.

"The paperwork took forever, but we've got enough here injections to treat a dozen people with Pinto's," Dr. Cleveland declared, lifting up the large case as high as she could like the start of The Lion King.

"Then let's get going," Emile declared. "Is there a car the CDC can loan out? It's a long drive back to Miami."

"You've got a good boss," Dr. Cleveland chuckled. "He's already arranged your ride back." Dr. Cleveland slipped into the elevator. Virgil and Emile shared a glance but followed her in. "Top floor, please." Emile squirmed around Dr. Cleveland and pushed the button for the top floor.

"Why are we going up?" Virgil snapped. Dr. Cleveland ignored him, staring at the small screen that displayed the floor number.

"To infinity and beyond," Emile sighed, shrugging.

The elevator opened up on a floor identical to the rest of the facility- off-white and empty. Dr. Cleveland led the way, constantly adjusting the case in her arms. Virgil, Emile, and the security guard hurried after her. Dark doors lined the halls, leading into offices without owners. Virgil pulled at the collar of his shirt. Their footsteps were a chaotic drumset in a barren auditorium.

"Here," Dr. Cleveland huffed, stopping at the end of one of the labyrinth-like halls, facing another dark door. A sign stuck to the door with a little cartoon of a person climbing stairs. The text underneath said 'Rooftop Access'.

"Oh," Emile gasped, pulling open the door. "Thomas, you shining star!" A staircase climbed up a dark passage towards another door with dim light leaking in. Virgil bolted up the staircase, trying not to trip over his own feet. He shoved open the door at the top. His purple hair whipped around him, violent wind picking up Virgil's hoodie and threatening to drag it away. Virgil stood on the roof of the CDC headquarters. The glimmering lights of Atlanta stretched out below him, cars shining through the gaps between buildings. Red lights lined the edge of the roof and formed a circle around a large pad. A helicopter, lights shining into the darkness, sat in the center of the pad, blades chopping the wind and ripping the air from Virgil's lungs as they slowed down.

"Oh-" Virgil cussed, his words torn away by the wind. Emile, Dr. Cleveland, and the guard popped behind Virgil and stared at the helicopter. The helicopter side doors opened.

"We'll get to Miami in half the time!" Dr. Cleveland shouted over the wind, stalking towards the machine. "We'll have to refuel in Gainesville, but we'll be at Sanders soon! Come on!" 

"Thomas, what have you done," Virgil muttered. He followed Emile towards the helicopter. He pulled his hoodie tight and hoped it wouldn't fly off. Dr. Cleveland handed her case to a person in the helicopter wearing a headset, then scrambled into the machine. She offered her hand out to Emile. He shook his head. He propped his hands against the floor of the helicopter and hoisted himself inside. Virgil, however, took the CDC doctor's hand and climbed inside. The other person in the helicopter handed the three newcomers each a black headset. Virgil slipped his headset on. Dr. Cleveland strapped herself into one of the black leather seats attached to the helicopter wall and took her case back as the other person closed the helicopter doors. Virgil and Emile strapped in across from Dr. Cleveland, side by side.

"We're all set!" Dr. Cleveland called, her voice static-like through the headset. The helicopter blades began to pick up speed. The wind screamed outside the machine. The helicopter slowly lifted off the helicopter pad. It crawled forward and soon it was flying above the Atlanta skyline.

Virgil bit his lower lip. He'd made it. He'd gotten the medication. Now all he had to do was get back to Miami, and he wasn't even the one driving. There was nothing else he could do. Had he done enough? Did he get to the CDC fast enough? Would they have been there earlier if they hadn't stopped for the alligator? He rubbed his forehead, feeling the anxiety pressing against his brain.

He could feel someone's eyes on him. When he glanced to his side, Emile was looking at him. He smiled softly, the light from the city below reflected in his glasses.

"Ben 10, Virgil," Emile sighed. "Ben 10."

* * *

_Patton padded through the halls with a bit of a spring in his step. After all, he'd gotten off to an amazing start that day! After a Sunday vacation spent with his family, he'd gotten delicious pancakes from a Pancake House on his commute to Sanders, a warm cup of hot chocolate from the lobby cafe, only to be greeted with news that one of the young cancer patients getting treatment at Sanders went into remission! Who wouldn't be happy after a morning like that? And now, as Patton made his way down to the ED to collect a new patient to the children's ward, he took a quick detour towards Logan's ward. Surely the man would appreciate another visit from a friend! Patton hadn't been able to visit since early Saturday morning, so it was quite overdue._

_However, when Patton turned the corner into the hall where Logan's room sat, the aforementioned man was sitting in a wheelchair by the hallway window. A blanket covered his legs. He wore a dark blue sweatshirt with the TARDIS on the front. Patton smiled. Logan's doctors had given him the OK to wear street clothes the previous Friday, and Patton had insisted on bringing them from Logan's apartment to the hospital (he lived in such a small place!). The clothes made him seem a bit more like the scientific man Patton was getting to know. He was currently leaning his forehead against the glass, nose smushed against it._

_"Logan?" Patton asked. The young doctor looked up. The bags under his eyes that had been so prominent when he first arrived at the hospital were lighter, and something glinted in his eyes- something excited and focused._

_"Hello, Dr. Foster," Logan said, leaning back against the window. Patton padded over to the man and looked out the window. It was the same view as always, with glimpses of the sea in the distance._

_"What are you looking at?" Patton asked._

_"I've arranged an experiment with Talyn," Logan explained. "I wanted to see if I could spot them flashing a light up to my floor from the ground. I have found an error to my plan, however. I seem unable to see the ground. I can only lean so far without running the risk of falling out of my wheelchair." Patton frowned and glanced down. It was an odd angle from the window to the ground, to be sure._

_"I can't see any flashing lights," Patton said. "Maybe you need to look through a different window." Logan sighed and lifted his head, fixing his glasses._

_"Throughout my twelve days at Sanders Hospital, all I have seen has been my room, the path to the rehabilitation gym, and the gym itself," Logan huffed. "I don't know of any other windows that look down towards the area I have directed Talyn to go."_

_"Well, I do!" Patton chirped. "I can take you somewhere with a great view!"_

_"I shouldn't even be here anymore," Logan snapped, waving a hand in front of him. "I had expected to be released yesterday, but my doctors say that they want to keep me here longer because of the 'already unhealthy condition' in which I arrived." Patton crouched to Logan's eye level and smiled._

_"If you have cabin fever, why don't I show you the prettiest place in the hospital?" Patton suggested. Logan glanced out the window._

_"I suppose it will be interesting to see what this hospital has to offer," Logan muttered._

_"Follow me, Teach!" Patton chirped, marching past Logan._

_"Teach?" Logan repeated._

_"Yeah!" Patton laughed, glancing back. "It's a nickname! Because you're so smart! Come on!" Patton waited until he heard the wheels of Logan's wheelchair creak before he continued on. He scurried down the hall towards the nearest elevator. By the time an elevator finally arrived, Logan had finally caught up with him. Patton hopped into the elevator and kept the doors open until Logan wheeled in. He pressed the button for the top floor._

_"Should my doctors come to check on me and I'm not there-" Logan muttered._

_"I'm sure they'll understand!" Patton chirped. The doors opened and the two stepped outside. The halls of the top floor were rather barren, mostly used for office space and such. But there was one door, a rusted metal door with a push bar, that led to the best place on the floor. Patton pushed the door open and strolled onto the hospital roof. At the time, the little patch of sunshine was nothing more than bricks and railings, but as it always would be, the view was unbeatable. From the roof, Patton could look out over the Miami skyline. If all he saw before was a sliver of the ocean, now he could easily see the sprinkles of beaches and the blue waves that melted into the sky. The sun dangled on top of Patton's head and bounced against the brick. Traffic rumbled through the streets, ignoring the two men towering above them like kings._

_Patton padded to the edge of the roof and leaned against the metal railing that kept folks from tumbling._

_"Do you like it?" Patton asked. Logan wheeled to the railing and looked over the skyline. His blanket slipped off his lap. His amputated leg was propped up, red and swollen. But Logan didn't care. The gentle, knowing smile Patton had grown used to played on Logan's lips._

_"Fascinating," Logan said, blinking slowly. Patton's smile grew, alongside with something in his chest. A tiny squee escaped his mouth. Logan's smile turned into a frown. "Please never make that noise again."_

Two figures laid in the corner of the yellow isolated room, covered by sheets. Patton's hand rested on the glass. Logan was resting, arms folded over himself as he stared at the ceiling. Patton wished he would rest in any pose but that. His hand traced the outline of the two bodies, leaving smears on the window.

"You ready, Padre?" Roman's reflection appeared in the window behind Patton. Patton shook his head like a dog and turned around.

"Yep!" Patton huffed. "Yep, I'm ready to go. Is Jessie prepped?"

"They're just wheeling her into the observation room," Roman said. "I've never been happier not to be a doctor than right now. I may be a heroic prince, but removing an appendix is a bit much for me. Too many heebie-jeebies." Roman padded through the decontamination chamber and made his way towards the observation room where the McCallums and Yakimovs were kept just hours before. Almost everyone was asleep at this point. Even Nate, the silent guardian, was curled up in a chair by the quarantined doors with his sunglasses falling off his nose. The nurses and doctors not involved in Jessie's case took whatever room they could find. From desk chairs to quiet observation rooms to simply curling up in a corner and hoping someone didn't step on them, there was no option blocked from the Sanders staff. Except, well, leaving.

The nurses that were awake pushed Jessie's bed across the silent ED. The bed's wheels squeaked as they rolled. Mr. and Mrs. McCallum stood by the door. Their daughter was still asleep. Patton wasn't sure if that was a good thing. Someone inside the room held the door open for the bed. Roman pulled his phone out of his pocket and waved it at Patton. Patton nodded. It was all part of the plan. Roman jogged off towards the chute's room and Patton followed Jessie into surgery.

Joan was just finishing washing their arms at the small sink inside the room. A mask covered their mouth and nose. Tall, far-reaching lights, courtesy of CDC protocol, shined into the empty space where the nurses pushed in Jessie's bed. A few of the other doctors assigned to the case waited with their sterile hands raised. All eyes were on Jessie now. Patton closed the door behind them. He fiddled with the sleeves of his white coat as he sat down in a chair by the door.

"Everyone ready?" Joan asked, facing the group. Patton took out his phone and tried to ignore the frustration picking at his head. Joan didn't want him to operate, so he wasn't operating, plain and simple.

**Starry Logan**  
  
**Me: **surgery just started.  
  
**Starry Logan: **Very well. I would appreciate updates on the surgery as it progresses.  
  
**Me: **how are you feeling?  
  
**Starry Logan: **It's interesting how much a person's endocrine system contributes to their daily functioning.  
  
**Me: **like i said, you're allowed to be scared.  
  
**Starry Logan: **Emotions are a literal killer for me, Patton. While it may be futile, staying calm and logical for however long I can is the best course of action. You can be scared for me if you wish.  
  
**Me: **you know full well that's not how it works, logan.  
  
**Starry Logan: **Because of your insistence on a constant good mood?

Patton set his phone on his lap. He thought he was getting better at that. Logan could still read his mind, even from across the ED. That was why Joan wanted him off Jessie's case entirely. Wasn't his 'constant good mood' a good thing? Wasn't it better not to wallow in bad emotions? But then, he always assured his friends that their emotions were valid. So why weren't Patton's emotions valid?

He glanced towards the surgery. They'd moved Jessie off her bed and onto the bed built into the room. Monitors wrapped a half-moon shape around the doctors. An anesthesiologist- the only one in the ED at the moment- crouched by Jessie's head. The doctors huddled over her, muttering amongst themselves. Patton's phone buzzed against his leg. 

**Starry Logan**  
  
**Starry Logan: **Because of your insistence on a constant good mood?  
  
**Starry Logan: **I did not realize just how different we were until now.  
  
**Me: **what do you mean?  
  
**Starry Logan: **You experience normal emotions, even if you do not enjoy them all. I don't believe that I experience the full range of human emotions under typical circumstances.  
  
**Me: **what? no! logan, i promise, you feel just as much as anyone else.  
  
**Starry Logan: **That does not feel like the truth.

"Dr. Foster!" Joan called. Patton scrambled up, nearly dropping his phone. Joan looked up from Jessie, holding their blood-stained hands up and in front of them. "We'll need some aprotinin! Just send down a full bottle!"

"Got it!" Patton declared, pulling up Thomas's phone number.

**Tommy Boy**  
  
**Me: **order up! joan wants a bottle of aprotinin.  
  
**Tommy Boy: **Getting it now! So you're aware, Virgil and Emile are getting a helicopter ride back to Miami. They'll be here soon.

Patton stalked out of the makeshift operating room. The McCallums sat in chairs by the door. They glanced at Patton as he left, but stayed sitting. Patton walked as quietly as he could towards the quarantined doors. The Yakimovs walked past him and towards the observation room. Patton could see guards sitting outside the quarantine, half asleep. He took a quick turn into the storage room where Roman waited. The shelf had been pushed to the side to completely uncover the chute.

We're getting our first package," Patton announced.

"Already?" Roman huffed. "That was fast." Roman stuck his head into the chute. "Do you think this'll work?"

"I hope so," Patton sighed. Roman pulled his head out and cracked his back.

"Anything you want to talk about while we're waiting?" Roman groaned, stretching his arms overhead.

"Uh..." Patton said. "2006's _She's the Man_ starring Amanda Bynes?"

"Fun!" Roman chuckled. "I actually performed in Twelfth Night once. You know, the Shakespeare play the movie's based off of? I was Sebastian."

"I feel bad that Viola has to pretend to be someone else," Patton admitted.

"Roman!" Thomas's voice echoed down the chute. "You there?"

"I'm ready!" Roman called, sticking his hands into the chute.

"Here it comes!" Thomas called. Something thudded down the chute. A ziplock bag plopped into Roman's hands. The bag was filled with cotton balls surrounding a patient's no-slip slipper. Roman sat on the floor and opened up the bag.

"Did it break?" Thomas asked as Roman pulled out the slipper. He stuck his hand inside, dislodging more cotton balls. He pulled out a dark orange vial, perfectly sealed and labeled 'Aprotinin'.

"We are the champions!" Roman declared, hoisting the vial in the air.

"Thank you, Thomas!" Patton called up the chute. He grabbed the vial out of Roman's hand and scurried out of the storage room. The Yakimovs stood beside the McCallums, with Mrs. Yakimov pulling a chair across the room to sit next to Mrs. McCallum.

"She's not your daughter," Mr. McCallum muttered.

"But she is _our _daughter's friend," Mr. Yakimov sighed, running a hand down his face. "We don't have to like you. We just have to tolerate you enough so our daughters don't feel like they need to hide things from us." Patton smiled as he slipped back into the observation room. Maybe things would turn out right for the two families.

"I'm back," Patton declared, holding up the aprotinin bottle. One doctor was hand deep into Jessie's belly while Joan fingered the IV bags attached to Jessie. One of the nurses rushed up to Patton. They carefully took the aprotinin bottle and rushed to the sink. Patton settled back into his seat by the door. Oddly enough, he'd missed a few messages from Logan.

**Starry Logan**  
  
**Starry Logan: **I simply do not understand.  
  
**Starry Logan: **Pinto's is a disease that causes the endocrine system to overwork itself. The physical side effects are to be expected. But I am having difficulty understanding what is caused by the disease and what is not. That does not seem to be the usual reaction to emotions.   
  
**Starry Logan: **The world of emotions belongs to you and Dr. Picani. I find it hard to believe I have a place there.  
  
**Starry Logan: **I don't understand  
  
**Starry Logan: **I don't understand  
  
**Starry Logan: **I don't understand  
  
**Me: **you're okay, logan. i'm here.

All Patton wanted to do was give Logan a hug. He knew what he wanted to say to him, but not how to say it. Logan had emotions, and Patton knew Logan knew that. Even if he didn't feel things like other people, he still felt things. But as the stench of Jessie's blood drifted into Patton's nose, he lost his words as soon as they formed in his head.

* * *

_Patton bit back a yawn as he fixed the cardigan wrapped around his shoulders. Goosebumps formed on his arms. Couldn't someone turn down the air conditioning? Well, it didn't matter too much- Patton's shift was over. He had a couple of hours left to try out the new pizza place that opened up in his neighborhood. Pizza was the perfect end to the day. He just needed to check on Logan. Maybe he'd have some odd facts to share about pizza or stars or whatever he spent his day researching._

_He stopped in front of Logan's door and pulled out his giant smile. He knocked on the door, banging out the rhythm to _Lucy In the Sky With Diamonds. _No one responded. Was Logan asleep? The man was very exact in his sleep schedule, even in the hospital- asleep at 10:00, awake at 6:00. It was only 9:00._

_"Logan?" Patton asked, knocking again. Maybe he could just let himself into the room- he'd done it a few times before, after all, and Logan wasn't too bothered by it. His frustrated face was great, after all. So, Patton turned the doorknob and pushed open the door. Logan's room was dark, the lights from the hall bleeding inside. Patton leaned inside. Logan's bed was empty, and his wheelchair was missing. Did he go exploring again? Had he been taken for another appointment? But if that was the case, would his doctors have turned off the lights?_

_Patton stepped into the room. He flicked on the lights. There was something on Logan's bed that blended into the white sheets. Patton padded over. It was a notecard with a message scribbled on the back._

Hello. If someone arrives at my room before I return, they may find me at the rehabilitation gym. -Logan.

_At least Logan was kind enough to leave Patton a letter. But didn't the gym close an hour ago? Well, if Patton was going to find Logan, he would have to start somewhere. He left the note on the bed and strolled out of the room, turning the lights back off. He crossed his arms as a cold burst of air flowed around him. He stalked down the hall towards the nearest elevators._

_The lower floors of Sanders were mostly populated by the start of the night shift. Nurses switched stations with their replacements and doctors chatted amongst themselves, sharing the day's news. Patton waved at a few of them as he stalked through the halls. Had Logan really traveled all this way? He may have been getting better at his wheelchair, but he was still weak. Was he too tired to return to his room?_

_He stopped outside the dark gym doors. The lights were off inside, but when Patton pressed his face against the tiny window in the door, he could see a sliver of light in the back of the room. Patton pushed the doors open as softly as he could. He took careful steps so his shoes didn't squeak against the floor. There was someone standing between two metal railings. A wheelchair Their hands pressed against either railing, both feet grounded into the floor. One leg took a step forward. The other leg gave out and the person collapsed into the railing._

_"Why won't this work," they hissed. Patton recognized the voice. He took out his phone, turned on the flashlight, and shined it forward._

_"Logan?" Patton asked. Logan squinted in the light, his face red. His prosthetic leg laid sprawled in front of him. His hands had a death grip on the railing. Logan plopped onto the ground, falling onto his back._

_"Dr. Foster, what are you doing here?" Logan grunted, pushing himself up._

_"Oh, I was just 'Patton' around," Patton said, smiling. "I was looking for you. I'm going to pull a Uno Reverse card and send that question back to you."_

_"I am attempting to continue physical therapy," Logan huffed. "I have been gaining strength with each session with Talyn, therefore I decided to keep working."_

_"But the gym's supposed to be closed," Patton said. "What if you fell and couldn't get back up?"_

_"I will have to deal with my new situation myself soon enough," Logan snapped. "There will be no one to assist me when I return home. I need to be able to walk."_

_"You lost your leg," Patton sighed. He walked between the railings and sat in front of Logan. "It's going to take a while before you can walk normally." Logan fixed his glasses and smoothed down his sweatshirt. He grabbed the railings and slowly pushed himself up. His arms shook violently, rattling the railings. Patton scrambled up and took Logan by the arms._

_"Maybe you should sit back down," Patton said softly. He slowly lowered Logan back onto the gym floor. Logan pulled his arms away._

_"You don't understand," Logan grumbled. "I must learn to walk."_

_"You'll walk again," Patton assured him. "You just need to take your time."  
_

_"You're not listening!" Logan snapped, clenching his fists. "I am a doctor. My job is to help patients. How am I supposed to help my patients if I cannot help myself? Once I regain the ability to walk, I can start looking for employment again."_

_"I thought you had a job," Patton said. "Don't you work at a clinic in town?"_

_"I've been fired," Logan grunted. "My accident plus the long rehabilitation process has drawn people to the decision that I can no longer work there." Logan pressed the base of his palm into his forehead. "I refuse to become a, a 'pity party' . I will not have people look at me and think I am someone who needs their sympathy, nor do I want to be be seen as some symbol for amputation recovery. Unless I become mobile, my achievements and passions will be forgotten. I want to be Dr. Berry, not poor Logan, not an otherworldly icon, Dr. Berry. I have to be Dr. Berry. I have to be Logan." Logan squeezed his eyes shut. Patton set his jaw. If he had never been certain of anything before, he was certain about what his next step was._

_Patton scooted forward. One hand rested on Logan's shoulder, and another moved to his back. He pulled Logan into his chest and wrapped both arms around him. Logan's arms went stiff as boards at his side._

_"I said-" Logan hissed._

_"This isn't a pity hug, don't worry," Patton said, resting Logan's chin on his shoulder. "Logan's all I see when I talk to you." Logan's shoulders softened. His arms loosened, resting in his lap. He let out a long sigh. Logan leaned into Patton, not too much, but just enough. Patton could feel Logan's heartbeat, slowly sinking to Patton's. _

_Something warm and soft bloomed in Patton's chest. His smile grew just a bit and he let his head fall gently on Logan's shoulder. Logan was a man Patton really, really wanted to know. He was a man whom, Patton realized, he wanted to know in a different way. It wasn't a loud, thunderous realization like so many movies showed, where roses and stars formed around the couple and dreams were suddenly met. It was noticing the first orange leaf in the oak from Patton's childhood home. It was wearing a sweater inside only to discover the house was already warm. It was a new book flicked open with a single finger, it was a warm hug on a silent summer night, and it was, for now, something Patton didn't need to say. _

"That took forever!" Roman groaned as Patton followed the surgical team out of the observation room. Joan padded beside Jessie, who was fast asleep in her bed. The McCallums stood up and scurried after their daughter, leaving the Yakimovs lurking by the door. "I think I caught a disease from all the dust in that chute."

"Still, it was helpful," Patton chirped. "Jessie's surgery went well, everyone's stable, we- we're good, right?"

"I don't know about you, but sirens are calling me to sleep," Roman muttered, cracking his knuckles. "Do you want me to text Thomas about Jessie?"

"Sure," Patton sighed. "You make sure you get some good rest, kiddo."

"Not bad work for a quarantine, huh?" Roman chuckled, holding out his arms. Patton smiled and gave Roman a giant hug.

"Not bad at all," Patton chuckled, patting Roman's back. Roman left the hug first. He gave Patton a soft bow and stalked across the ED. Patton's hand rubbed against the phone in his coat pocket. There was only one place to go now. He made his way towards the decontamination chamber. This time, Patton didn't have trouble slipping on his gloves.

"Knock knock," Patton whispered as he pushed open the door to the isolated room. Logan had the bed propped up enough so he could look around the room with a blanket tucked around his legs. His glasses drooped to the edge of his nose. One hand ran down the bandages wrapped around his left arm. Logan glanced up. That familiar curious spark that inhabited Logan's eyes was dimmed.

"Deja vu much?" Patton muttered.

"What did you say?" Logan asked.

"Nothing," Patton assured him, walking over to the bed. "The surgery went well. Jessie's doing well."

"Joan is a capable surgeon," Logan said, looking back at his hands. The chair Patton had grabbed earlier that night (or morning, technically) still sat facing where Ms. Lakin once laid. Patton turned it around and took a seat.

"I'm staying right here the rest of the night," Patton declared. He placed a hand on the bed.

"I can practically feel the emotion radiating through your suit," Logan huffed. A finger traced the outline of the bandage on his upper shoulder. "Since you aren't completely coddling me, I can assume my wishes were carried out."

"Your wishes?" Patton asked.

"Early on in the course of Ms. McCallum's surgery, the symptoms of Pinto's 'got the better of me', you could say," Logan muttered. "As I was spamming you with meaningless messages, I was being assisted by a few nurses through a panic attack." Patton's heart sank.

"Logan," Patton gasped. "What? Why didn't you tell me?" His hand moved onto Logan's leg.

"You were playing a role in surgery," Logan snapped. "What help would you have provided Ms. McCallum if you abandoned her to come to me?"

"You're my husband, that's my job!" Patton stammered.

"You are also a doctor," Logan snapped. "Assisting in that surgery was also your job. I've told you about this because I do not hide things, but I waited because I knew how you would react. You would pity me."

"I-" Patton stammered. "No. I don't want to do this. The last conversation we had before you came in here was a fight. I don't want to keep fighting."

"Then what do you want to do, Patton?" Logan barked."Do you want to coddle me, treat me like I am dying? Because I am not your patient. I got sick because I was doing _my _job. I am a doctor, not someone to pity or mourn. You are a doctor too, and that's what I want to focus on. We are more than sickness and distress. We are forged by elements born in the cores of stars, unlikely miracles of the universe, changing the world with every minute action we take and each person we pass. To define ourselves or others by disease or disorder or temporary stress is an insult to that miracle." Logan took a deep breath and pushed up his glasses. For a moment, a different spark returned to his eyes, a spark that came close to the disgust Patton felt for his husband's dead stare. Logan's temper burned behind his brown eyes like fresh firewood.

"You can talk to me about what you please," Logan huffed. "But do not pity me. Pity is the last thing I need." The words Patton had been searching for before danced against his tongue. He'd done this dance before. All he needed to do was remind Logan of the steps.

"Emotions are weird, aren't they," Patton chuckled, staring at his hand. "Especially when they're jump-started by some South American disease."

"Emotions rarely possess logic," Logan grumbled.

"But they kinda do, if you really think about it," Patton stammered. He walked his hand across the bed, using his fingers like little legs. "Our emotions are chemicals in our bloodstream controlled by these little glands. It's like our stomach or our heart. They're doing their job to keep us alive and safe. They make us scared when we're in danger or excited when we complete a task. They aren't the smartest little guys, even though they do try. Sometimes its tough to understand why they're sending out sad messages or angry messages. Sometimes they get confused and make us feel scared when nothing's happening, or sad on a good day. And sometimes they get taken hostage."

"How would one even capture a gland of the endocrine system?" Logan muttered. "That makes no sense."

"They're made of stardust too, right?" Patton chuckled. "They're little miracles and a part of us. They have their jobs and they're a little different in each person. Some people have a super busy system that's constantly hyping them up or making them burst into tears. For other people, they like to relax and not overwork themselves." Logan stared at Patton.

"That's not how the endocrine system works," Logan huffed.

"My point is, we're all so different," Patton said. "But we're all normal humans. A normal human is just, well, a human! We've got a stomach, a heart, a brain, and an endocrine system, so we're normal humans! Emotional or logical, creative or analytical, anxious or confident, sneaky or honest, crass or humble, we're all humans! I'm Patton Foster, human being, and there's no one else I'd rather be." Patton reached across the bed. He took Logan's hand. His gloved fingers slipped into the spaces of Logan's fingers. "And you're Logan Berry, human being, and there's no one else I'd rather you be." Patton stood and leaned over the bed. He cupped Logan's chin in his hand. Patton could already feel the tears. "I mean, you're the human I fell in love with." Another spark glinted in Patton's eyes. It wasn't the angry spark or, heaven forbid, the dead spark. It was a rarer spark that moved beyond rage, apathy, or curiosity. It appeared in Logan's most content moments when he successfully tackled a tough case or sat around the apartment in his unicorn onesie. It was the spark of understanding.

Logan's hand carefully reached Patton's face, weak and shaking. It rested on the back of Patton's neck. Logan leaned forward and Patton met him halfway. Their foreheads leaned against each other, separated by a sheet of plastic. Patton draped his arms around Logan's shoulders and pulled him closer. Even though he couldn't see his bloodshot, crying eyes, Patton was certain they too possessed that spark of understanding. After all, it was the spark of Patton and Logan, born on a chilly night on the lowest floor of Sanders Hospital between two metal railings.

* * *

The ground drew closer and closer. Virgil had grown deaf to the beating of the blades overhead, but as they slowed down, they once again came into focus. Miami was bathed in the morning sun that bounced across each building and car. The helicopter pad of Sanders Hospital, with its rainbow caduceus, sat right below the helicopter. Folks scurried around the pad, directing the giant flying machine into a safe landing. Virgil's heart pounded to the rhythm of the blades.

"Told you it would be quick," Dr. Cleveland chuckled, glancing out the window. Virgil's hand was glued to the helicopter door. The copter's feet thudded onto the pad, jostling the crew. Virgil undid his buckle and shoved open the door.

"Virgil, wait for the blades to slow down!" Emile shouted, but Virgil was already throwing off his headset. He threw his feet over the helicopter and fell onto the pad. Keeping his head low and hoodie close, Virgil scurried across the roof. A familiar face scrambled into his path.

"Virgil!" Thomas exclaimed, smiling. He grabbed Virgil's shoulders, stopping the nurse.

"Ok, yeah, glad to be back, we really don't have time for this," Virgil snapped. "How's Logan?"

"Holding on," Thomas reported. Emile and Dr. Cleveland scurried up to the pair. Emile carried the white case with the medication.

"Let's get this down so the CDC can start its quarantine process," Dr. Cleveland sighed.

"Wait, quarantine process?" Virgil stammered, spinning to face the CDC doctor. "Like, the process to get things into the quarantine? That takes too long, I don't know if Logan can wait that long!"

"It's the only way to get the medication through without breaking quarantine," Dr. Cleveland sighed. "We have to be safe."

"Logan doesn't have time for this!" Virgil shouted.

"Thank you so much for accompanying our staff to Miami," Thomas stammered, slipping between Virgil and Dr. Cleveland. "I hope you have a safe trip back to Miami."

"I should accompany the case to its destination," Dr. Cleveland stuttered.

"Are the dosage instructions in here?" Thomas asked, patting the case in Emile's arms.

"Yes, there's a paper with the rules of dosage," Dr. Cleveland said.

"Thank you!" Thomas exclaimed. "Have a good day, Dr. Cleveland! Come on!" Thomas ran across the roof. Virgil bolted after him.

"Uh, thank you!" Emile shouted as he hurried after them. Thomas led them down the stairs and into the hospital.

"Thomas-" Virgil huffed.

"You're going to be mad at me, but you're right," Thomas huffed, running through the halls. "Logan doesn't have time to go through the CDC's process. We kinda found a shortcut. The stairs are quicker, follow me down!" Thomas practically threw himself through the door to the stairs. Virgil and Emile scrambled after him, almost flying down the stairs. Virgil nearly tripped on his own feet, but he gripped the rails and continued down.

Thomas left the staircase and hurried through the halls of the pediatrics department.

"Where are we going?" Virgil huffed. Thomas made a hairpin turn and scrambled into a laundry room. Virgil had expected the washing machines and hampers of dirty clothes. He didn't expect the hole in the wall beside a table of patient slippers, cotton balls, and plastic bags. Thomas stuck his head into the hole.

"Roman!" he shouted. "Joan! Anyone?"

"I've only gotten a few hours of sleep, could you please be a bit quiet?" Roman's voice bounced through the hole. "I'm just getting the chute hidden."

"Don't!" Thomas shouted. "Uncover it! You're getting another delivery!"

"What in the world?" Virgil snapped.

"Is that Virgil?" Roman gasped. "Hey! What do you think of our chute, Virgil?"

"How is this not sealed up?" Virgil hissed. "Pinto's could fly through here and infect the hospital!"

"Yell at us later," Thomas huffed, pulling his head out of the hole. "Emile, open up the case." Emile set the white case on the table of cotton balls and clicked it open. Thomas reached in and pulled out a bottle with the CDC's label. He stuffed the bottle into a slipper and filled the slipper with cotton balls.

"Please tell me you aren't going to do what I think you're going to do," Virgil groaned.

"You can thank Joan for this idea," Thomas huffed, putting the slipper into a plastic bag. He threw more cotton balls into the bag and sealed it up. "Roman! Get ready!" Thomas picked up the bag and put it into the hole.

"Don't you dare," Virgil grunted.

"Too late!" Thomas shouted. He let go of the bag and let it fall.

"No!" Virgil shouted. He squirmed past Thomas and stuck his head into the hole. A pair of hands caught the bag far below. "Is it ok? Did it break?" The hands pulled out of the hole.

"Give me a second!" Roman shouted. The silence that followed was filled only by Virgil's pounding heart. "We're good! It's safe!"

"Here's the instructions!" Thomas called down, picking a piece of paper from the case. He tossed it down the hole.

"We're going to jail," Virgil groaned, his fingers digging into the sleeves of his hoodie.

"Get that to Logan!" Thomas shouted to Roman.

"Aye aye!" Roman declared. Virgil grabbed his phone and pulled up Logan's number. It only had to ring twice before someone picked up.

"Virgil?" Patton said, his voice muffled.

"Pat, we got the stuff," Virgil panted, letting himself smile. "I'm pissed that there was a breach in quarantine, but we'll deal with it later. Get Logan ready! Roman's coming!"

"I have been ready for hours," Logan muttered, voice soft and tough to hear. Virgil put the call on speaker and set it on the table.

"I see them!" Patton gasped. "They're getting their suits on! Roman, Joan, Nate, they're all there!"

"You're going to be just fine, Logan," Thomas declared.

"You hear that, Lo?" Patton cheered. "You're going to be fine!"

"I believe there is something special about today," Logan muttered. "I don't remember what, however."

"Well, we put you on some tough pain killers a couple of hours ago, hon," Patton chuckled. "It's ok."

"Ah, I remember now," Logan sighed. "Virgil, are you listening?"

"I'm right here, Logan," Virgil said. Logan began to do something no one ever expected him to do- something that would only happen if he was very, very high on pain killers. He started to sing.

_"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Virgil, happy birthday to you."_

* * *

End of quarantine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy! This story was a wild ride from start to finish! This chapter took a lot longer thanks to the length, but I hope I crafted a satisfying ending. I can't wait any longer- I'm posting this as soon as it's completed! I hope you enjoyed the Lockdown arc!


End file.
